BY  MARVIN  DANA 

AUTHOR  OF  WITHIN  THE  LAW 
BASED  ON  THE  POEM  OF 

ROBERT  W  SERVICE 


(USRARYj 

UNfVf  RSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO       I 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 


THE  ILLUSTRATIONS  SHOWN-  IN 
THIS  EDITION  ARE  REPRODUC 
TIONS  OF  SCENES  FROM  THE 
PHOTO-PLAY  OF  "THE  SHOOTING 
OF  DAN  MCGREW" — SCENARIO 
BY  AARON  HOFFMAN — PRODUCED 
AND  COPYRIGHTED  BY  THE  POPU 
LAR  PLAYS  AND  PLAYERS  Co.  INC., 
TO  WHOM  THE  PUBLISHERS  DE 
SIRE  TO  EXPRESS  THEIR  THANKS 
AND  APPRECIATION  FOR  PERMIS 
SION  TO  USE  THE  PICTURES. 


THE   SHOOTING   OF 
DAN   McGREW 

A  Novel 


BY 

MARVIN  DANA 

Author  of  WITHIN  THE  LAW,  etc. 


BASED   ON    THE   FAMOUS   POEM   OF 

ROBERT  W.  SERVICE 


PROFUSELY   ILLUSTRATED   WITH    SCENES 
FROM   THE   PHOTO   PLAY 


NEW   YORK 
GROSSET  &  DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1915,  by 
BARSE  &  HOPKINS 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

Produced  by 
THE  POPULAR  PLAYS  AND  PLAYERS,  Inc. 

Scenario  by 
AARON  HOFFMAN 

CAST  OF  CHARACTERS 

Jim    EDMUND  BREESE 

Dan  McGrew WILLIAM  MORSE 

Lou KATHRIN  ADAMS 

Nell  BETTY  RIGGS 

Jack  Reeves WALLACE  SCOTT 

Sam  Ward   JAMES  JOHNSON 

The  Sheriff JACK  AUSTEN 

Fingie  Whalen   JACK  MURRAY 

Caribou  Bill BILL  COOPER 

Harry,  the  Dog  Man HIMSELF 


THE  SHOOTING  OF 
DAN  McGREW 

CHAPTER  I 

A  CLATTER  of  hoofs  on  the  gravel  of 
the  driveway.  A  shout  from  the  rider 
as  he  swung  himself  down  from  the  saddle: 

"Lou!" 

A  woman  came  swiftly  from  the  cool  shad 
ows  of  the  porch  into  the  brilliance  of  the 
summer  sunlight,  to  meet  the  man  who  now 
advanced  toward  her  with  fond,  smiling 
eagerness. 

The  two  kissed  very  tenderly,  for  they  were 
lovers  still,  after  seven  years  of  married  life. 
The  delicate  rose  of  the  wife's  cheeks  deep 
ened  a  little  under  the  warmth  of  the  hus 
band's  caress,  and  the  graciously  curving  lips 
trembled  to  a  smile  of  happiness  as  she  looked 

7 


8     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

up  into  the  strong  face  of  the  man  she  loved. 
In  the  slightly  rugged  features,  she  read  viril 
ity  and  honesty  and  loyalty.  An  exquisite 
contentment  pervaded  her.  She  felt  that  the 
cup  of  joy  was  brimming.  Husband  and 
child  and  home — ! 

Her  train  of  thought  was  broken  by  the 
man's  words,  spoken  quickly  in  a  tone  that 
mingled  curiously  amusement  and  chagrin: 

"Dangerous  Dan!  He's  coming,  Lou! 
He's  buried  the  hatchet,  and  is  coming  to  visit 
us.  Dangerous  Dan  McGrew!  Now,  what 
do  you  think  of  that?"  He  waited  for  an  an 
swer,  staring  quizzically  into  the  suddenly 
perturbed  face  of  his  wife. 

"My  rival!"  he  added  whimsically,  albeit  a 
bit  complacently. 

"Never!"  the  wife  declared  with  emphasis. 
A  note  of  harshness  had  crept  into  the  music 
of  her  voice.  "Never  your  rival,  Jim,  though 
he  tried  to  be."  The  earnestness  of  utterance 
gratified  the  man,  in  whom  a  vague,  latent 
jealousy  stirred  at  thought  of  that  other  who 
had  loved  where  he  loved.  But  there  was  no 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     9 

gratification  in  the  new  mood  of  the  woman. 
Instead,  a  subtle  dread  touched  her  spirit. 
The  contentment  of  a  moment  before  was  fled. 
There  was  nothing  precise,  nothing  formu 
lated,  in  her  thoughts.  Only,  something  sin 
ister,  menacing,  pressed  upon  her.  She 
welcomed  the  distraction  afforded  by  her 
daughter's  appearance  on  the  scene. 

The  girl  came  running  from  the  gardens 
behind  the  ranch-house  and  sprang  into  her 
father's  arms  with  a  cry  of  delight. 

To  her  six  years,  his  frequent  rides  to  the 
village  ten  miles  away  were  in  the  nature  of 
great  events,  and  she  welcomed  each  return  as 
if  from  long  and  perilous  voyaging.  More 
over,  there  was  always  an  added  thrill  for 
Nell  in  her  father's  home-coming,  because  of 
the  mysterious  charm  in  the  gift  that  never 
failed.  To-day,  indeed,  the  present  was  des 
tined  to  mark  her  life;  even  to  be  of  vital  im 
port  in  a  crisis  of  distant  years. 

No  hint  of  the  gravity  of  things-to-be  shad 
owed  the  radiant  joy  of  the  child's  face,  as  she 
was  lifted  in  the  man's  arms  and  kissed. 


io     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

There  was  only  vivid  anticipation  of  the  gift 
that  would  mark  this  wonderful  hour. 

James  Maxwell  lowered  his  daughter  to  the 
ground,  with  an  affirmative  nod  toward  his 
wife. 

"Now,  Nell,"  he  said  in  a  voice  of  author 
ity,  "stand  perfectly  still,  and  keep  your  eyes 
shut,  and  maybe  something  will  happen." 

The  girl  rested  uneasily  in  an  effort  of 
obedience,  with  her  eyes  screwed  tight-shut, 
giggling  expectantly. 

The  mother  looked  on,  smiling  again,  the 
momentary  depression  of  her  spirit  allayed,  if 
not  destroyed,  by  the  scene.  She  met  the 
man's  glance  with  understanding  in  the 
brown,  gold-flecked  deeps  of  her  eyes.  The 
father  took  from  a  pocket  a  small  leather  case, 
and  opened  it,  and  held  up  for  his  wife's  in 
spection  the  gold  chain  and  pendant  locket, 
set  with  an  initial  N  in  tiny  pearls.  The 
wife  nodded  her  approval.  Straightway,  the 
chain  was  adjusted  about  the  child's  neck, 
with  the  locket  hanging  low  on  the  slender 
breast. 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     n 

"Now!"  the  father  cried  sternly. 

On  the  instant,  Nell's  dark  eyes  flashed 
open  in  swift  inquiry  to  her  father's  face, 
then,  following  the  direction  of  his  gaze,  the 
proud  chin  was  drawn  in,  and  she  stared  down 
rapturously  at  the  trinket  lying  on  her  bosom. 
Followed  little  squeals  of  bliss,  then  reverent 
touching  of  the  treasure.  The  secret  of  the 
catch  baffled  her,  and  the  father  had  to  come 
to  the  rescue  lest  patience  become  too  hardly 
strained.  When  the  locket  had  been  opened, 
she  stared  into  it  through  long  seconds  in 
wordless  pleasure.  Finally,  she  spoke  in  a 
hushed  voice,  as  if  in  the  presence  of  some 
thing  very  sacred. 

"It's  you,  Daddy!"  It  was  a  broken  whis 
per  of  happiness.  Her  eyes,  lustrous  with 
glad  tears,  were  lifted  adoringly  to  her  fa 
ther's  face  for  a  moment.  Then,  again,  her 
glance  went  to  the  locket. 

"And  you,  Mamma!"  she  exclaimed,  and 
turned  to  regard  her  mother  with  equal  love. 
"Oh,  it's  just  beautiful!"  Pictures  of  both  of 
you — Daddy  and  Momsy! — all  my  very  own! 


12     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

.  .  .  And  may  I  really,  truly  wear  it?" 
Nell's  voice  was  suddenly  become  timid,  infi 
nitely  wistful. 

The  mother  answered,  as  she  stooped  and 
kissed  her  daughter. 

"Yes,  darling;  it's  all  your  very  own,  to 
wear  every  minute,  day  and  night,  if  you  want 


to." 


Presently,  when  the  intricacy  of  the  locket's 
catch  had  been  fully  mastered,  Nell  stole  a\vay 
to  her  favorite  shady  nook  in  the  rose-garden, 
to  be  alone  with  her  delight,  while  husband 
and  wife  ascended  the  steps  of  the  porch,  and 
seated  themselves  at  ease  in  the  W7icker  chairs. 
The  lattice-work  of  vines  shut  off  the  rays 
of  the  westering  sun.  Blowing  over  the 
stretches  of  lawn,  thick-set  with  shrubberies 
and  studded  with  trees,  the  soft  breeze  came  re 
freshingly,  and  bore  to  the  two  the  multiple 
bland  aromas  of  the  generous  earth.  Beyond 
the  green  within  which  the  mansion  stood, 
rolled  rich  acres  of  ripening  grain  that  undu 
lated  beneath  the  gentle  urging  of  the  wind 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     13 

in  shimmering  waves  of  gold.  The  whole 
scene  was  one  of  peace  and  prosperity,  where 
a  fruitful  soil  lavished  riches  in  return  for  the 
industry  of  man.  The  house  itself  was  a  com 
modious  structure,  bountifully  equipped  with 
the  comforts  and  elegancies  of  living;  for 
James  Maxwell  was,  though  still  a  young 
man,  one  who  had  achieved  a  full  measure  of 
success  from  out  the  fertile  fields  of  the  West, 
and  his  culture  and  that  of  his  wife  had  given 
to  their  home  a  refinement  unusual  in  regions 
so  remote.  Thus  far,  their  married  life  had 
been  almost  flawless.  The  wholesomeness  and 
simplicity  of  their  life  together,  blessed  with 
the  presence  of  the  child,  varied  by  occasional 
visits  to  the  larger  centers  of  civilization,  had 
held  them  in  tranquil  happiness.  Yet,  this 
afternoon,  there  lacked  something  of  the  ac 
customed  serenity  between  the  two.  Now, 
the  oppression  that  had  affected  the  woman  at 
the  mention  of  Dan  McGrew  returned  to  her 
in  some  measure,  and,  by  reason  of  the  sym 
pathy  between  her  and  him,  a  heaviness 


i4     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

weighed  on  his  mood  as  well,  though  he  con 
cealed  it  as  best  he  might,  even  from  himself, 
and  spoke  with  brisk  cheerfulness. 

"Yes,  Lou,  Dangerous  Dan  McGrew  is 
about  to  descend  upon  us — handsome  as  ever, 
I  suppose,  and  with  all  his  wiles  still  working. 
I  can't  cease  to  wonder,  Lou,  how  I  ever  came 
to  win  you  from  him."  There  was  a  new  ten 
derness  in  his  voice  as  he  spoke  the  final  words. 

The  wife  laughed  softly. 

"Don't  fish,  Jim,"  she  retorted.  "You 
know  perfectly  well  that  Dan  never  had  a 
chance  with  me — not  really.  He  was  alwrays 
a  fascinating  fellow  enough,  but,  somehow— 
She  fell  silent,  a  puzzled  frown  lining  the 
warm  white  of  her  forehead  beneath  its  coro 
nal  of  golden  hair. 

"Yes,"  the  husband  agreed;  "somehow, 
there  is  always  that  'but'  when  one  gets  to 
thinking  of  Dan."  He  would  have  added 
more,  but  checked  himself,  reluctant  to  speak 
ill  of  one  who  had  been  his  friend,  one  whom 
he  had  bested  in  the  struggle  for  a  woman's 
favor. 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     15 

The  wife  had  no  such  scruple.  She  spoke 
incisively,  and  her  voice  was  harsher  than  its 
wont. 

"I  never  trusted  him,"  she  said.  "I  always 
found  myself  doubting  his  honesty." 

Thus  encouraged,  Jim  spoke  his  mind 
frankly. 

"Dan  was  always  as  crooked  as  a  dog's  hind 
leg,"  he  declared,  without  any  trace  of  bitter 
ness,  but  as  one  stating  a  fact  not  to  be  denied. 

"He  wrote  to  you?"  Lou  inquired,  with  a 
suggestion  of  wondering  in  her  voice. 

"No;  it  was  Tom." 

Jim  thrust  his  hand  into  the  breast-pocket 
of  his  coat,  and  brought  forth  an  envelope, 
from  which  he  took  out  and  unfolded  a  single 
sheet  of  typewritten  paper.  Then  he  read 
the  letter: 

"Dear  old  Chum: 

"Dan  McGrew  is  back  again  in  his  old 
home  after  five  years.  He  is  coming  down  to 
see  you  and  his  old  sweetheart,  Lou.  He  has 
not  yet  forgiven  you  for  winning  her.  He 
seems  to  have  the  same  old  unsettled  disposi- 


1 6     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

tion  and  I  think  he  requires  the  strong  hands 
of  a  friend  to  keep  him  in  the  straight  path. 
"Sincerely  your  old  friend, 

"TOM." 

"Then  you  don't  know  when  he  will  get 
here?"  Lou  asked. 

Jim  shook  his  head. 

"No,"  he  said,  rather  irritably;  "we'll  just 
have  to  wait  for  the  visitation  to  descend  upon 
us,  be  it  sooner  or  later." 

"We  shall  have  to  be  nice  to  him,  of  course," 
the  wife  said. 

"I'm  not  specially  keen  on  dry-nursing  Dan 
McGrew,"  Jim  remarked  plaintively.  "We 
were  never  really  intimate,  though  we  were 
friendly  enough.  To  tell  the  truth,  Lou,  I'm 
mighty  sorry  Dan's  coming  here."  His  face 
was  somber  as  he  gazed  into  his  wife's  eyes 
and  read  in  their  clear  light  sympathy  with 
his  own  repugnance  at  the  prospect.  With  an 
impatient  ejaculation,  he  sprang  to  his  feet 
and  went  into  the  house,  where  he  seated  him 
self  before  the  grand  piano  that  occupied  the 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     17 

center  of  the  spacious  living-room.  In  a 
fierce  crashing  of  dissonances,  he  voiced  the 
resentment  that  was  in  him.  But  after  a  little, 
indignation  somewhat  relieved  by  such  audi 
ble  interpretation,  his  fingers  flew  into  rip 
pling  arpeggios,  out  of  which  came,  at  last,  a 
lilting  melody,  joyous,  yet  tender.  For  Jim 
Maxwell,  lover  of  music  all  his  days,  had  a 
gift  of  improvisation,  with  a  sufficient  tech 
nique  for  its  exercise.  To  it  he  resorted  often 
for  the  sounding  of  his  deeper  moods,  and  in 
it  found  a  never-failing  solace.  So  now,  pres 
ently,  soothed  by  his  own  art,  he  got  up  from 
the  piano  and  went  back  to  the  porch,  where 
he  faced  his  wife,  smiling. 
Lou  smiled  in  response. 
"Thank  you,  Jim,"  she  said  softly.  "You 
scared  away  all  the  blue  devils  with  those 
dreadful  discords.  And  then  you  just  tempted 
all  sorts  of  good  fairies  to  come  and  hover,  and 
they  did.  You  cheered  me  up.  It's  all  right 
that  Dan  should  come  to  visit  us.  Only- 
She  broke  off,  nor  did  the  husband  utter  any 


1 8     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

question  as  to  the  uncompleted  sentence.  But 
in  the  hearts  of  both  lurked  still  something  of 
the  dread  which  the  music  had  failed  entirely 
to  dispel. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  time  of  Dan  McGrew's  arrival  was 
not  long  left  in  doubt;  for,  on  the  third 
day  following  Tom's  letter,  Jim  received  one 
from  Dan  himself. 

Dear  Jim: 

Am  back  again  in  the  old  home  after  five 
years,  and  have  grown  rich.  Am  coming 
right  down  to  see  you  and  my  old  sweetheart, 
Lou.  I  can  still  hardly  forgive  you  for  win 
ning  her  from  me,  but  I  suppose  you're  the 
better  man.  I  am  still  the  same  rolling  stone, 
ever  seeking  the  gold  that  seems  to  get  further 
away  as  I  approach.  Will  reach  your  place 
the  Tuesday  following  your  receipt  of  this 
letter.  Sincerely, 

DAN  McGREW. 

So,  on  the  appointed  Tuesday,  Jim  drove 
in  his  light,  covered  buggy  to  the  town,  to 
meet  the  through  train  from  the  East.  With 
him,  mounted  on  her  pony,  went  Nell.  She 

19 


20     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW. 

wore  the  precious  locket  proudly  displayed 
against  her  trim  khaki  coat,  and  she  rode  in 
happy  excitement,  for  the  trip  to  her  was  a 
great  adventure,  and  there  was,  in  addition, 
the  thrilling  novelty  of  this  stranger's  coming, 
who  might  be  a  prince  in  disguise. 

When,  at  last,  the  limited  roared  into  the 
station  at  Coverdale,  and  Dan  McGrew  swung 
himself  down  from  the  Pullman's  steps,  Jim 
went  forward  and  seized  his  visitor's  hand  in 
a  warm  clasp. 

"It's  good  to  see  you  again,  after  all  these 
years,"  he  cried  heartily.  At  this  moment, 
there  was  only  kindness  in  his  feeling  toward 
the  tall,  handsome  man  who  returned  his 
greeting  so  genially.  He  meant  to  be  as 
friendly  as  he  could  to  this  guest,  to  be  helpful 
and  loyal,  so  far  as  he  might,  though  the  other 
had  no  claim  upon  his  friendship,  and  though 
he  himself  had  neither  liking  nor  respect  for 
Dan  McGrew. 

After  the  first  exchange  of  exclamations  be 
tween  the  two,  Jim  called  to  Nell,  who  had 
remained  standing  diffidently  at  a  little  dis- 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     21 

tance,  her  deeply  tanned  face,  under  the  dark 
masses  of  hair,  tense  with  interest,  as  her  eyes 
searched  the  newcomer  in  vast  curiosity.  A 
great  shyness  was  upon  her  as  she  approached. 

"This  is  my  daughter,  Nell,"  Jim  said,  with 
manifest  pride  in  the  winsome  creature. 

"And  Lou's!"  the  other  muttered,  under  his 
breath.  But  Jim  caught  the  words,  and  was 
moved  to  a  fleeting  pity  for  the  man  who  had 
failed  in  love. 

Nell  murmured  a  stilted  phrase  in  expres 
sion  of  her  pleasure  at  meeting  Mr.  McGrew. 
But  as  the  stranger  bent  and  kissed  her,  she 
felt  a  sudden  instinct  of  distaste  under  the 
caress  that  both  frightened  and  puzzled  her. 
For,  hitherto  in  her  childish  experience,  em 
braces  and  kisses  had  been  matters  either  of 
pleasure,  as  in  the  case  of  her  father  and 
mother  and  others  dear  to  her,  or  of  utter  in 
difference,  as  in  the  case  of  those  for  whom  she 
cared  nothing.  Now,  for  the  first  time,  a  kiss 
was  disagreeable.  She  felt  herself  somehow 
frightened  by  this  fine  gentleman,  who  might 
be  a  prince.  She  could  not  understand  it. 


22     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

The  child  could  not  have  understood  even 
had  she  been  able  to  look  into  the  heart  of 
Dangerous  Dan  McGrew,  there  to  see  the 
black  malice  that  fouled  it. 

For  such  was  the  fact.  There  was  evil  in 
the  mind  and  in  the  soul  of  Dan  McGrew. 
Through  all  the  years  since  he  had  lost  Lou 
Ainsworthy,  he  had  longed  for  her.  The  cir 
cumstance  that  she  was  married  to  another 
man  put  no  curb  on  his  fierce  desire  for  her. 
Unlawful  passion  throbbed  in  his  blood.  It 
was  this  that  had  driven  him  to  the  long  jour 
ney.  A  man  wholly  without  scruple,  without 
care  for  any  other  than  himself,  save  only  the 
woman  to  possess  whom  he  so  craved,  Dan 
McGrew  was  resolved  to  woo  that  woman 
anew,  to  win  her  for  himself  by  any  means,  no 
matter  how  false  or  vile. 

Thus,  it  came  to  pass  that,  in  the  days  of  his 
dwelling  under  the  roof  of  the  man  whom  he 
was  determined  to  wrong,  the  visitor  played 
the  hypocrite  with  his  host,  aping  a  manner 
of  bluff,  candid  good-fellowship.  With  the 
wife,  too,  he  played  the  hypocrite.  He  dared 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     23 

not  let  her  so  much  as  suspect  the  hot  fires  that 
burned  in  him  as  he  looked  yearningly  on  her 
loveliness.  He  realized,  at  the  outset,  that 
her  devotion  to  the  man  of  her  choice  re 
mained  unaltered.  He  knew  that  the  open 
confession  of  his  illicit  love  would  move  her 
to  scorn  and  loathing.  Only  by  guile,  and 
that  of  the  craftiest,  could  he  hope  for  tri 
umph  over  loyalty  and  love.  With  the  pass 
ing  days,  the  task  loomed  before  him  as  one 
almost  impossible  of  achievement.  From  all 
that  he  knew  of  Jim's  past  life  and  all  that  he 
could  learn  concerning  the  husband's  reputa 
tion  in  the  community,  there  showed  nowhere 
any  least  opportunity  for  attack.  And  attack 
must  be  made,  for  only  by  destroying  the 
wife's  faith  could  he  have  any  opportunity  to 
gain  her  favor.  It  occurred  to  him  that,  in 
a  conspiracy,  he  would  have  need  of  accom 
plices.  To  get  some  information  concerning 
such  as  might  serve  his  end,  he  often  rode 
alone  to  the  town,  while  Jim  was  occupied 
with  ranch  affairs.  There,  he  entered  easily 
into  the  vulgar  dissipations  of  the  place,  mak- 


24    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

ing  himself  hail-fellow-well-met  with  the  riff 
raff  of  the  saloons  and  dance-houses,  both  men 
and  women.  The  occupation  was,  in  truth, 
congenial  enough  to  him;  for  there  was  a 
coarseness  in  his  nature  that  found  satisfaction 
in  loose  living.  Before  he  had  been  a  week 
at  the  ranch,  he  had  become  known  to  all  the 
blear-eyed  habitues  of  Murphy's  saloon — to 
some  of  the  women  frequenters  there  as  well, 
and  to  certain  men  who  were  not  blear-eyed ; 
for  they  drank  little,  but  played  poker  much. 
With  these  latter,  especially,  Dangerous  Dan 
fraternized,  since,  like  many  a  wiser  man  and 
better,  he  greatly  admired  poker — and  his 
own  playing  of  it. 

Dan  won  the  first  day,  and  the  second,  and 
the  third — as  those  playing  with  him  meant 
that  he  should.  But  the  stakes  were  small. 
Dan  himself  fretted  because  they  were  so 
small.  It  was  his  own  suggestion,  his  own  in 
sistence,  that  the  stakes  should  be  raised.  Im 
mediately,  then,  Dan's  luck  slumped.  It 
worried  him  only  a  little  at  first — more,  as  the 
ill  fortune  continued. 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     25 

On  the  fourth  day,  Jess,  one  of  the  painted 
women  of  the  place,  leaned  over  him  so  closely 
that  the  heavy  musk  of  her  perfume  deadened 
his  senses.  She  whispered  her  admiration  of 
his  play.  Dan  forgot  that  she  was  the  wife 
without  the  law  of  Fingie  Whalen,  who  sat 
across  the  table  from  him,  ferret-faced  and 
with  slender,  agile  fingers  that  touched  the 
deck  of  cards  always  with  the  soft  delicacy  of 
a  caress.  Jess's  praise  fattened  Dan's  pride  in 
his  own  skill.  He  insisted  loudly  on  larger 
stakes,  which  were  accepted  grudgingly  by 
his  fellow  players.  There  were  four  others 
at  the  table  with  him.  Despite  his  experience 
in  cities  further  East,  he  had  no  least  suspicion 
that  the  odds  of  the  game  were  four  to  one. 
He  lost  a  most  attractive  pot  on  a  full  house 
of  kings  with  treys.  The  event  angered  him. 
A  little  later,  a  pot  that  had  been  raised 
around  the  board  until  it  was  of  admirable 
proportions,  was  lost  by  him  to  one  who  held  a 
humble,  but  efficient,  flush. 

Dan  was  not  an  honest  man.  His  losses 
irritated  him.  He  believed,  by  reason  of  a 


26     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

certain  dexterity  in  legerdemain,  that  he  could 
thus  cajole  fortune.  He  misjudged  his  com 
pany.  When  he  possessed  himself  of  four 
aces,  and  held  them  concealed  in  his  hand,  he 
failed  to  note  the  eyes  of  Fingie  Whalen, 
which  had  followed  his  every  movement. 

But  this  same  Fingie,  being  a  master  of  his 
craft,  said  nothing  until  after  the  bets  had  run 
high  and  it  had  come  to  the  show-down.  Dan 
had  forced  the  betting  to  a  point  where  the 
chips  and  bills  and  gold  on  the  table  totaled 
a  most  respectable  sum.  He  swept  the  pot 
toward  him,  after  a  contemptuous  glance  at 
the  four-of-a-kind  which  Fingie  had  offered 
against  him.  His  own  four  aces  were  indis 
putably  winners. 

But  Fingie  Whalen  thrust  out  an  impera 
tive  hand  in  restraint. 

"Nothin'  doin'I" 

In  the  same  instant,  his  fingers  closed  in  a 
viselike  grip  on  Dan's  left  hand.  Dan  was 
the  stronger  man.  But,  in  the  moment  of  sur 
prise,  his  muscles  yielded.  His  hand  was 
pulled  forward — it  lay  open  on  the  table. 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     27 

Within    his    palm    four    cards    were    lying.. 
With  his  free  hand  Fingie  flipped  the  four 
cards  upon  the  table.     They  were  inconsid 
erable — a  deuce,  a  nine,  a  pair  of  sevens. 

His  trickery  thus  baldly  revealed,  Dan 
would  have  acted,  but  he  was  too  late.  As  he 
pulled  the  automatic  from  his  pocket,  the  man 
next  him  thrust  an  elbow  forward  and  the  shot 
went  wild.  In  the  next  instant,  the  pistol  had 
been  knocked  from  his  grasp,  and  four  men 
bore  down  upon  him.  Dan  was  a  strong  man, 
and,  whatever  his  faults,  absolutely  fearless. 
He  struck  out  vigorously,  but  the  slender,  silk- 
ankled  foot  of  Jess  caught  him  so  that  he 
stumbled  and  missed  his  blow.  The  fists  of 
the  four  beat  him  to  the  floor. 

It  was  then  that  Jim  entered  the  room.  He 
had  business  in  town,  and,  on  learning  at  the 
ranch-house  that  his  guest  had  preceded  him, 
he  had  felt  it  incumbent  upon  him  to  seek  out 
Dan.  He  had  acted  from  a  rather  futile  sense 
of  duty  toward  the  man  who,  as  Tom  had  put 
it,  required  the  strong  hands  of  a  friend  to 
keep  him  in  the  straight  path. 


28     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

'At  the  hotel,  he  made  inquiry  of  the  clerk: 
"Have  you  seen  anything  of  Mr.  McGrew?" 
The  clerk  permitted  himself  an  indulgent 
grin  at  the  question.     He  admired  Jim  Max 
well,  as  did  all  the  better  element  in  the  com 
munity,  and  he  found  himself  wondering  over 
the  disreputable  associations  of  the  stranger 
who  was  the  ranch-owner's  guest.     His  an 
swer  was  prompt: 

"You're  pretty  sure  to  find  him  in  the  back 
room  over  to  Murphy's.  Usually,  when  he 
hits  this  burg,  he  sets  in  a  game  with  the  gang 
over  there." 

Jim's  face  lined  grimly.  He  felt  a  great 
distaste  for  his  mission.  He  was  no  precisian. 
He  was  not  above  taking  a  glass  on  occasion 
at  Murphy's  bar.  But  he  had  no  liking  for 
the  vicious.  The  coarse  debauchery  of  such 
a  place  was  repulsive  to  him,  as  it  must  be  to 
any  decent  man.  Nevertheless,  he  went  out 
of  the  hotel,  and  strode  rapidly  toward  the 
corner  on  which  stood  the  rough  frame  build 
ing  of  the  saloon.  As  he  drew  near,  the  re 
port  of  a  shot  came  sharply. 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     29 

"What  hell's  mess  is  on  now?"  he  muttered 
savagely,  and  broke  into  a  run.  In  the  next 
instant,  he  had  leaped  through  the  door  to  the 
back  room.  He  could  not  see  clearly  for  a 
few  seconds  in  the  gloomy  place,  after  the 
glaring  sunlight  of  outdoors.  But  the  evi 
dences  of  conflict  were  plain  enough  from  the 
sounds  of  stamping  boots  upon  the  boarded 
floor,  the  soft  thudding  of  fists  against  flesh, 
the  snarling  curses,  gaspings  and  guttural 
gruntings  of  the  combatants,  the  shrill  screams 
and  whimperings  of  wTomen.  Then  his  eyes 
adjusted  themselves  to  the  dim  light,  and  he 
made  out  the  form  of  Dan  McGrew,  girt 
about  with  the  thrashing  arms  and  legs  of 
his  assailants.  Without  any  hesitation,  Jim 
plunged  into  the  fray.  His  fists  shot  home  in 
sledge-hammer  blows,  against  which  the  four, 
taken  completely  by  surprise,  were  defenseless. 
As  they  fell  away  from  their  victim,  Jim  saw 
the  automatic  lying  where  it  had  fallen  on  the 
floor  during  the  scuffle.  Before  his  adver 
saries  could  rally  to  the  attack,  he  had  pounced 
upon  it,  and  had  sprung  back  against  the  wall 


30    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

of  the  room,  whence  he  menaced  the  four,  who 
halted  in  fear  of  the  weapon. 

"There's  been  enough  of  this,"  Jim  declared, 
and  his  voice  was  ominous,  heavy  with  au 
thority.  "I  don't  know  the  rights  of  the  fuss, 
and  I  don't  care  a  damn,  I  guess.  But  there'll 
be  no  murder  done  here — unless  it's  been  done 
already." 

There  came  some  profane  grumblings  from 
the  discomfited  quartette,  but  they  ventured  no 
other  opposition  to  Jim's  will,  for  they  feared 
this  man,  and  he  knew  it,  and  he  did  not  fear 
them  in  the  least. 

"We  caught  'im  cheatin' — blast  'im!"  Fin- 
gie  affirmed,  sullenly. 

"I'm  not  interested  in  the  history  of  the 
row,"  was  the  contemptuous  retort;  "only  in 
the  end  of  it."  Jim  thrust  the  revolver  in  his 
pocket,  assured  that  there  would  be  no  further 
trouble;  for  now  the  bartender  and  Murphy 
had  made  a  belated  appearance  on  the  scene. 
He  stooped  over  the  beaten  man,  who  had  al 
ready  begun  to  show  signs  of  returning  con 
sciousness.  Presently,  in  fact,  Dan  was  able 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     31 

to  sit  up,  and  to  swallow  the  brandy  Murphy 
had  brought.  His  injuries,  though  painful 
enough,  were  superficial,  and  after  a  little  he 
was  able  to  clamber  into  the  buggy,  which  Jim 
had  hired  from  the  hotel  livery  for  the  return 
to  the  ranch. 

They  had  gone  a  mile  from  the  village, 
when  Dan  spoke  for  the  first  time: 

"It  was  all  a  devilish  frame-up  to  rob  me," 
he  asserted.  His  tone  was  vindictive,  but, 
somehow,  not  quite  convincing. 

Jim  could  not  keep  the  scorn  from  his  own 
voice  as  he  answered: 

"You  can't  complain — you  knew  what  sort 
they  were." 

Under  the  lash  of  justice  in  the  taunt  from 
the  man  who  had  rescued  him,  Dan  McGrew 
was  silent;  but  the  black  malice  in  his  heart 
seethed  still  more  fiercely  from  quickened 
fires  of  hate. 


CHAPTER  III 

JIM  explained  the  affair  to  Lou,  with  a  bit 
ter  emphasis  that  forbade  questioning  as 
to  details. 

"Dangerous  Dan,"  he  said,  unable  to  avoid 
a  sarcastic  inflection  on  the  adjective,  "got 
into  a  fight  at  Murphy's.  When  I  arrived, 
there  were  four  on  top  of  him." 

"And  you  pulled  them  off,  I  suppose,"  Lou 
said,  her  lips  curving  to  a  smile  in  which 
amusement  blended  with  admiration  for  the 
stalwart  man  who  had  spoken  so  curtly. 

"I  can't  say  that  I  exactly  pulled  them  off," 
Jim  answered,  with  a  faint  responsive  smile. 
"Anyhow,  I  managed  to  get  them  off  him,  one 
way  or  another.  That's  the  reason  he's  here 
now — worse  luck!" 

In  the  days  that  followed,  Dangerous  Dan 
played  the  hypocrite  to  perfection.  He  went 
no  more  to  town.  With  Jim,  he  was  all 

32 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     33 

amiability,  full  of  reminiscences  concerning 
the  long-ago,  when  they  had  pranked  together 
in  the  devious  ways  of  boys.  Indeed,  he  was 
so  agreeable  that  Jim  found  himself  at  least 
tolerant  of  the  company  of  this  guest,  for 
whom,  without  any  obligation  whatsoever,  he 
had  assumed  some  measure  of  responsibility. 
For  he  remembered  always  that  phrase  in  the 
letter  Tom  had  written  him:  "And  I  think 
he  requires  the  strong  hands  of  a  friend  to 
keep  him  in  the  straight  path."  He  felt  an 
onerous  responsibility  for  the  visitor  whom 
fate  thrust  upon  him,  though  he  detested  that 
responsibility — and  the  man. 

It  was  the  time  of  the  harvest.  Jim  was 
busy  with  overseeing  a  multitude  of  details 
in  the  gathering  of  the  crops.  Often,  he  was 
away  from  the  house  from  dawn  to  dark. 
Nell,  too,  was  frequently  absent,  for  she  de 
lighted  in  the  activities  of  men  and  horses  and 
machines  in  the  fields.  On  her  pony,  she 
spent  hours  in  her  father's  company.  The 
consequence  was  that  Dan  McGrew  enjoyed 
unlimited  opportunities  of  association  with  his 


34    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

host's  wife.  Necessarily,  the  intimacy  of  their 
former  relations  had  its  effect  on  their  present 
intercourse.  Indeed,  Dan  made  a  habit  of 
half-jesting,  half-sentimental  references  to 
that  time  when  he  had  wooed  so  vainly.  The 
phrase  was  often  on  his  lips: 

"Do  you  remember,  Lou,  when  we  were 
sweethearts — ?" 

Lou,  for  her  part,  undoubtedly  found  some 
thing  pleasant  in  the  situation.  Dan  showed 
himself  at  his  best  toward  her.  Since  he 
knew  the  utter  hopelessness  at  this  time  of  win 
ning  her  from  her  allegiance,  he  strove  to  hide 
from  her  any  expression  of  the  passion  that 
burned  within  him,  though  the  effort  taxed 
his  strength  of  will  to  the  utmost.  But,  be 
cause  of  his  restraint,  Lou  was  unsuspicious  as 
to  the  visitor's  designs,  and  accepted  Dan's 
proffer  of  innocent  friendship.  He  was  an 
amiable  and  entertaining  companion,  an 
agreeable  variation  from  the  somewhat  mo 
notonous  loneliness  of  the  ranch-house;  espe 
cially  at  this  season  of  the  year,  when  husband 
and  daughter  alike  so  constantly  deserted  her. 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     35 

Certainly,  she  knew  that  her  guest  was  her 
lover  as  well.  But  the  fact  did  not  militate 
against  him  in  her  regard.  On  the  contrary, 
it  gave  piquancy  to  their  companionship. 
The  unvarying  manner  of  respect  for  her  as 
his  friend's  wife  lulled  suspicion.  She  sym 
pathized  with  him  for  his  failure  in  attain 
ing  the  desire  of  his  heart.  A  mild  feminine 
vanity  found  gratification  in  the  presence  of 
one  so  humbly  devoted.  She  had  no  shred  of 
liking  for  him,  in  any  deeper  sense.  Some 
times,  indeed,  of  an  evening,  when  the  three 
were  together  under  the  lights  of  the  living- 
room,  she  found  herself  comparing  the  two 
men.  She  admitted  that,  in  a  superficial  way, 
Dan  was  perhaps  the  handsomer.  His  fea 
tures  were  as  clearly  cut  as  those  of  some1 
Roman  emperor.  The  eyes,  set  wide-apart, 
gave  dignity  to  his  expression.  There  was  in 
his  air  always  a  suggestion  of  ruthless  strength, 
even  of  lawlessness,  as  of  one  who  would  wreak 
his  will,  reckless  of  consequence.  It  was  that 
quality  which  in  his  boyhood  had  won  him  the 
name  of  Dangerous  Dan.  He  had  been  given 


3 6     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

over  to  escapades,  to  exploits  of  daring 
prowess,  to  fights  against  odds  for  the  sheer 
love  of  fighting.  In  bodily  strength  and  the 
usual  manly  qualities,  the  two  men  were  well 
matched.  Lou  could  see  little  to  choose  be 
tween  them.  But  her  comparison  ended  al 
ways  in  a  great  welling  of  love  for  her  hus 
band.  There  was  in  his  expression  a  kindli 
ness,  in  no  way  \veakness,  that  the  other  lacked. 
And  there  was,  too,  something  subtle,  a  qual 
ity  of  the  soul,  to  be  felt,  though  not  to  be  seen 
or  described,  by  those  with  whom  he  came  in 
contact.  It  occurred  to  Lou  once,  as  she  thus 
meditated  while  the  men  talked  together,  that 
Jim's  love  for  music,  together  with  his  skill 
in  its  interpretation,  was  characteristic  of  the 
difference  between  the  twro;  for  to  Dan, 
though  he  \vas  at  times  swayed  easily  and 
deeply  by  music,  the  art  meant  little  to  him, 
made  no  component  part  in  his  life. 

Strangely  enough,  it  was  Jim's  music  that, 
very  directly,  precipitated  a  crisis  in  the  situa 
tion. 


THE  SHOOTIKG  OF  DAN  McGREW     37 

It  was  a  day  of  languorous  heat  from  a  sun 
like  molten  brass.  Jim,  a  little  weary  after 
hours  among  his  men,  found  an  opportunity 
for  leisure,  and  welcomed  it.  He  rode  to  the 
ranch-house,  and  sighed  gratefully  as  he 
entered  the  cool-shaded  porch,  where  he 
found  Lou  busy  with  some  sewing,  while  Dan 
lounged  at  ease  over  a  pipe.  The  wife  wel 
comed  her  husband  gladly,  and  fussed  over 
him,  and  brought  him  lemonade.  Jim  was 
listless  at  first  from  fatigue,  and  listened  lazily 
to  the  chatting  of  his  wife  and  their  guest, 
without  taking  part.  But  presently,  he  felt 
himself  revived,  and  entered  heartily  into  the 
talk.  Perceiving  his  increased  animation, 
Lou  made  a  request. 

"If  you're  not  too  tired,  Jim,"  she  said 
eagerly,  "I  wish  you  would  play  over  that 
melody  you  worked  out  the  day  you  received 
Tom's  letter.  I  do  hope  you  remember  it," 
she  continued,  with  a  little  catch  of  anxiety 
in  her  voice.  "Bits  of  it  have  been  running 
in  my  head  all  day." 


38     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

Jim  rose  obediently,  with  a  smile  for  his 
wife.  As  their  eyes  met,  Lou  smiled  mis 
chievously. 

"Perhaps,  you  will  remember  it  began  with 
a  great  lot  of  startling  chords.  But  you  don't 
need  to  repeat  them." 

Jim  grinned  appreciatively. 

"I'm  not  in  the  mood  for  those  chords,  as 
you  politely  term  them,  to-day.  But  I  think 
I  have  that  song  still  in  my  head — and  in  my 
heart."  The  last  words  were  spoken  softly. 

From  the  living-room,  a  moment  later, 
came  a  ripping  charm  of  arpeggios  that  in 
their  sequence  told  softly  of  the  melody  to 
come.  Then,  soon,  the  air  itself  sounded  in 
its  joyous,  lilting  rhythm  of  a  passionate  ten 
derness. 

It  was  plain  that  the  player  was  telling  the 
truth  of  his  heart.  The  music  made  a  rhap 
sody  of  love.  Deep  within  it  was  a  whisper 
of  spiritual  things,  of  things  sacred.  But, 
too,  the  weaving  notes  made  a  mesh  of  sensu 
ous  splendor.  There  was  a  voluptuous  spell 
in  the  throbbing  cadences. 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     39 

It  was  the  sensual  witchery  of  the  music 
that  probed  the  emotions  of  Dan  McGrew, 
and  beat  them  to  swirling  revolt  against  the 
calmness  he  had  striven  to  maintain.  The 
finer,  nobler  meaning  of  the  love-lyric  touched 
him  not  at  all.  But  the  sorcery  of  that  ex 
quisite  voluptuousness  thrilled  in  his  blood. 
He  sat  watching  the  woman,  and  his  eyes  were 
aflame.  The  enchantment  of  the  melody  was 
upon  her  as  well.  Body  and  soul,  she  re 
sponded  in  her  mood  to  the  mood  of  the 
player,  whom  she  loved,  even  as  he  loved  her.. 
The  oval  of  her  cheeks  bore  a  deepened  rose. 
The  red  curves  of  the  lips  bent  to  a  tremu 
lous  smile.  The  dark  glory  of  her  eyes  shone 
more  radiantly,  as  she  stared,  unseeing,  into 
the  distance.  The  lithe,  gracious  form  was 
become  tense  in  this  moment  of  absorbed  feel 
ing.  Never  had  Dan  McGrew  seen  her  so 
wonderfully  alive,  so  vibrant  of  emotion,  so 
beautiful,  so  desirable,  so  altogether  adorable. 
With  the  beat  of  the  music  lashing  on  desire, 
the  spectacle  of  the  woman's  loveliness  fed 
the  flames  of  longing,  until  the  fires  of  his 


40     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

passion  consumed  utterly  the  will  that  would 
have  held  them  in  control.  The  music  soft 
ened  at  last  to  a  mere  breath  of  beautiful 
sound.  Then,  a  clangor  of  triumphant  har 
monies — and  silence. 

Lou  rose  quickly,  and  went  into  the  living- 
room. 

In  his  fevered  imagination,  Dan  McGrew 
could  see  the  caress  between  husband  and 
wife,  and,  though  he  continued  to  sit  immo 
bile,  staring  dazedly  at  the  spot  where  a  mo 
ment  before  the  woman  had  been,  wrath 
surged  in  him  against  that  other  man.  By  so 
much  as  his  love  for  the  woman  welled  in  him, 
by  so  much  the  tide  of  his  hate  mounted. 
For  a  long  time,  he  sat  there,  through  ages  of 
torture,  as  it  seemed  to  him.  He  heard  Jirn 
go  out  of  the  house  by  the  back  way.  Soon 
afterward,  there  came  to  his  ears  the  clatter 
of  a  horse's  hoofs  on  the  gravel  of  the  drive, 
and  he  knew  that  the  ranch-owner  was  off 
again  to  the  fields,  though  he  did  not  look  up 
to  see.  With  mad  eagerness,  he  was  await 
ing  the  woman's  return.  Reason  no  longer 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     41 

had  any  hold  on  his  mood.  He  was  helpless 
in  the  clutch  of  passion.  The  music  had 
softened  the  fibers  of  resolve.  The  allure-^ 
ment  of  the  love-light  that  had  shone  from 
Lou's  face  while  she  sat  listening,  had  drawn 
his  desire  of  her  into  a  vortex  that  held  him 
powerless  against  its  rush.  He  had  no  plan 
of  action,  no  thought  as  to  what  his  course 
should  be.  He  was  conscious  only  of  an  in 
tolerable  need  of  this  woman.  As  the  min 
utes  passed,  and  still  she  did  not  return,  the 
longing  mastered  him  completely.  He  got 
to  his  feet,  with  unaccustomed  awkwardness, 
and  went  into  the  living-room  with  shambling 
steps  wholly  unlike  his  usual  elastic  tread. 
He  moved  falteringly,  as  might  one  in  the 
dark  in  a  strange  place.  For,  in  truth,  the 
mists  of  passion  had  settled  on  his  spirit, 
shrouding  and  blinding  him. 

Lou  was  reclining  in  a  low  easy  chair, 
within  a  nest  of  cushions.  In  the  abandon 
ment  of  her  posture,  the  suave  grace  of  her 
body's  lines,  still  maidenly,  rather  than  ma 
tronly,  despite  her  full  womanhood,  were 


42     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

clearly  revealed  to  the  man's  avid  eyes.  On 
her  face  was  still  the  expression  of  rapturous 
tenderness  that  was  not  for  him,  which,  never 
theless,  had  enthralled  him.  Dan  McGrew, 
in  this  hour  of  folly,  was  bereft  of  judgment 
utterly.  The  woman  there  in  the  chair,  who 
did  not  even  turn  her  head  toward  him  as  he 
entered,  was  a  loadstone  that  drew  toward 
her  irresistibly  every  atom  of  the  blood  rac 
ing  in  his  veins.  He  went  toward  her — with 
out  any  hesitation  or  faltering  now.  All  the 
life  in  him  seemed  in  this  instant  to  be  at  its 
best,  potent  as  never  before,  and  not  to  be  de 
nied.  So,  he  moved  forward  lightly  and 
swiftly.  Before  the  woman  had  so  much  as 
guessed  his  presence  there  beside  her,  he  had 
stooped  and  taken  her  in  his  arms. 

Lou  cried  out  sharply  under  the  shock  of 
fear  in  the  first  second,  when  the  man's  arms 
closed  about  her.  But,  in  the  next  instant,  as 
she  felt  herself  lifted  bodily  from  her  place, 
and  crushed  against  Dan's  breast,  a  horrible 
fear  beset  her  that  sapped  her  strength,  and 
left  her  limp  within  the  fierce  embrace.  Her 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     43 

face  was  suddenly  become  pallid.  She  was 
half-swooning  under  the  dreadfulness  of  the 
thing  that  had  befallen.  Dan  rained  kisses  on 
the  golden  masses  of  her  hair,  from  which  the 
delicate  perfume  penetrated  his  senses,  and  in 
flamed  him  to  new  madness.  He  loosened  his 
clasp  upon  her  body,  in  order  to  raise  the 
white  face  to  his  lips.  But  then,  at  last,  the 
energies  of  the  woman  were  suddenly  restored. 
A  hot  flush  of  mingled  shame  and  anger  dyed 
face  and  throat.  The  heavy  lids  lifted  from 
the  dark  eyes,  which  now  were  blazing.  Her 
body  tensed,  then  wrrithed  in  an  abrupt,  vio 
lent  effort  for  freedom.  Her  action  caught 
the  man  unawares.  She  slipped  from  his 
arms,  and  darted  behind  the  chair  in  which 
she  had  been  sitting,  so  that  its  bulk  was  in 
terposed  as  a  barrier  between  them. 

"Oh,  you  have  dared — !"  She  broke  off, 
choking  over  the  humiliation  of  such  an  out 
rage  against  her  womanhood.  She  was  pale 
and  flushed  by  turns.  Her  body  was  racked 
by  convulsive  shudderings.  She  was  wounded 
to  the  depths  of  her  being. 


44    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

Dan,  nevertheless,  was  without  compunc 
tion  at  sight  of  her  distress.  He  was  still 
crazed  by  desire  of  her — a  desire  only  inten 
sified  a  thousand-fold  by  that  brief  contact  of 
her  within  his  arms.  With  a  great  leap,  he 
was  upon  her  before  she  could  flee  again,  had 
caught  her  shoulder,  wrenched  her  about,  and, 
for  a  second  time,  swung  her  to  his  breast. 
The  shriek  she  would  have  uttered  was  muf 
fled  by  his  lips  on  her  mouth. 

Jim  returned  early  from  the  fields  that  after 
noon.  His  heart  was  fairly  singing  with  hap 
piness,  as  he  mounted  the  steps  of  the  house. 
His  love  was  overflowing.  All  things  in  life 
were  perfect  to  him.  He  halted  on  the 
porch,  somewhat  surprised  that  neither  Lou 
nor  their  guest  should  be  there.  He  chanced 
to  glance  through  the  window  into  the  living- 
room.  It  was  the  very  moment  when  Dan 
McGrew  held  the  woman  strained  to  his 
bosom,  his  mouth  on  hers.  Jim  stared,  un 
comprehending,  unbelieving.  Then,  horror 
fell  upon  him,  enveloped  him  in  a  black  pall 
of  agony — for  his  wife  lay  supine,  unresisting, 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     45 

yielding  to  the  kisses  that  polluted  purity. 
But,  in  another  second,  Lou  found  strength  to 
twist  her  lips  aside,  and  the  cry  that  had  been 
stifled  broke  from  her.  Its  appeal  was  unmis 
takable  in  its  frantic  suffering.  Jim  heard 
and  understood,  and  answered  with  a  roar  of 
rage,  as  he  hurled  himself  through  the  door 
and  upon  the  man  who  thus  dishonored  him. 
Lou,  released  as  Dan  heard  Jim's  shout, 
shrank  away,  and  stood  trembling  against  the 
wall,  while  the  two  men  reeled  back  and  forth 
in  a  frenzied  grapple.  Their  strength  was  so 
well  matched  that  neither  at  the  outset  could 
gain  an  advantage;  for  each  was  keyed  to  ex 
treme  endeavor  by  the  urge  of  elemental  pas 
sions  at  their  full.  Then,  as  their  lurching 
bodies  sent  a  massive  chair  volleying  to  the 
floor,  Jim's  hold  was  loosened.  Dan  had  time 
to  snatch  the  automatic  from  his  pocket — but 
not  time  to  use  it.  Before  his  arm  could  be 
raised  to  fire,  Jim  had  caught  his  wrist  in  a 
grip  not  to  be  broken.  A  hip-lock  threw  Dan 
backward  violently  against  the  table  that  stood 
on  one  side  of  the  room.  Strong  though  it 


46     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

was,  the  table  yielded  under  the  impact  of  the 
two  heavy  bodies  upon  it,  and  went  crashing 
to  the  floor,  with  the  two  men  atop  the  splin 
tered  boards.  The  force  of  the  fall  stunned 
Dan  for  a  moment.  The  automatic  dropped 
from  his  released  hand.  Jim  saw,  and  seized 
the  weapon.  Ere  Dan  could  move,  he  had 
scrambled  to  his  feet,  where  he  stood  menac 
ing  the  fallen  man.  Perhaps  he  would  have 
shot  his  enemy  there  and  then — but  Lou  in 
terposed.  She  had  watched  with  dilated  eyes 
the  fight  between  the  men  who  loved  her. 
Her  whole  feeling  had  been  a  desperate 
prayer  for  her  husband's  victory:  a  prayer 
made  vital  by  hate  against  the  man  who  had 
so  grossly  insulted  her.  Now  at  the  end, 
however,  a  softer,  feminine  emotion  com 
pelled  her.  She  leaped  forward,  and  clung 
to  her  husband's  arm. 

"No,  no,  Jim!"  she  implored  him.  "Don't 
shoot!  Tell  him  to  go.  .  .  .  Oh,  my  God! 
Tell  him  to  go,  Jim." 

Dan  clambered  clumsily  to  his  feet.  The 
muzzle  of  the  automatic  stared  at  him  in  vi- 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     47 

cious  threat  of  death.  The  issue  had  left  him 
helpless.  He  was  too  weak  for  further  com 
bat,  in  the  reaction  from  great  emotions.  He 
stood  with  downcast  eyes,  swaying  a  little  un 
steadily. 

Jim  spoke,  his  voice  metallic: 

"You  hear?"  he  said.  "Get  out  of  here,  you 
dog!  I'll  send  your  things  to  the  hotel  to 
night.  Not  a  wrord  out  of  you — damn  you! 
—or  I'll  kill  you  in  your  tracks." 

Husband  and  wife  stood  rigidly  motionless, 
watching.  The  beaten  man  ventured  no  re 
bellion  against  the  decree.  He  went  out  of 
the  room  with  a  stealthy,  slinking  haste,  as 
though  he  feared  lest  the  self-restraint  of  his 
victor  might  fail.  But  in  his  heart  was 
neither  remorse  nor  despair — only  a  fiercer 
hatred  of  the  man,  a  fiercer  love  of  the  woman. 


CHAPTER  IV 

the  porch,  Dan  caught  up  his  hat, 
which  had  been  lying  on  the  chair,  and 
hastened  to  the  stables.  He  did  not  scruple 
now  to  make  use,  for  the  journey  to  the  vil 
lage,  of  the  horse  which  he  had  been  accus 
tomed  to  ride.  As  he  trotted  down  the  drive 
way,  he  encountered  Nell,  mounted  on  her 
pony.  The  girl's  gypsy-like  face  was  flushed 
from  a  brisk  canter  under  the  hot  sun,  and  her 
black  eyes  shadowed  by  the  long,  curling 
lashes,  were  sparkling  with  the  joy  of  life. 
She  called  out  cheerily  in  inquiry  whether  her 
father  was  at  the  house.  Dan  called  a  curt, 
"Yes,"  in  answer,  without  checking  his  pace. 
But,  as  the  two  came  abreast,  the  girl's  glance 
took  in  the  haggard  fury  on  the  man's  face, 
and  the  fearfulness  of  it  fell  like  a  blight 
on  her  gladness.  She  was  terror-stricken, 
without  in  the  least  understanding  why.  For 
his  part,  Dan  McGrew  rode  on  his  way 

48 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     49 

with  an  added  curse  for  this  innocent  child. 
Dan  McGrew  registered  at  the  hotel  in 
the  village,  with  a  careless  announcement 
to  the  clerk  that  the  loneliness  of  the  ranch 
had  outworn  his  patience,  and  that  his 
luggage  would  be  along  presently.  Then, 
after  he  had  been  fortified  with  a  solitary 
drink  at  the  bar,  he  betook  himself  to  his  cell- 
like  room,  which  was  the  best  the  hotel  af 
forded,  and  there  gave  himself  over  to  evil 
plotting.  As  a  result,  when  night  had  fallen 
he  sent  a  message  by  the  hotel  porter  to  Fin- 
gie  Whalen,  who  at  this  hour  would  doubtless 
be  found  somewhere  about  Murphy's.  Un 
der  the  circumstances,  naturally  enough,  he 
deemed  it  a  measure  of  prudence  not  to  visit 
Murphy's,  where  he  would  be  at  the  mercy 
of  the  men  from  whom  Jim  had  saved  him. 
He  was  sure,  however,  that  Fingie  would  not 
permit  any  false  delicacy  to  stand  in  the  way 
of  possible  gain.  He  had  decided  that  he 
could  make  use  of  the  gambler,  and  of  the 
gambler's  painted  woman,  Jess,  and  he  meant 
to  bribe  the  pair  to  his  purpose. 


50     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

Fingie  came  promptly.  Within  fifteen 
minutes  from  the  dispatching  of  the  porter, 
there  came  a  heavy  knock  at  Dan's  door,  and 
in  response  to  a  summons  to  enter,  the  squat 
form  and  lowering  face  of  the  gambler  ap 
peared.  He  grinned  evilly  at  Dan,  and 
swaggered  forward  truculently. 

"What  in  hell  are  you  up  to?"  he  demanded, 
as  he  came  to  a  standstill,  facing  his  host,  who 
remained  sprawling  in  a  chair,  seemingly 
quite  at  ease.  Dan  had  determined  precisely 
on  how  to  conduct  himself  in  the  interview. 
So,  now,  he  waved  his  hand  hospitably  toward 
a  bottle  of  whiskey  which,  with  a  jug  of  water 
and  glasses,  stood  on  the  table. 

"Help  yourself,"  he  exclaimed  genially, 
"and  sit  down.  I  want  to  have  a  talk  with 
you." 

"You'll  have  to  do  some  mighty  tall  talkin' 
to  get  rid  of  them  extra  four  kyards  I  seen 
with  my  own  eyes,"  Fingie  retorted.  He  ap 
proached  the  table,  however,  without  any  re 
luctance,  where  he  helped  himself  liberally 
before  seating  himself. 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     51 

Dan  made  his  explanations  glibly. 

"I  got  on  to  the  fact  that  I  was  getting  the 
bad  end  of  a  crooked  deal  in  that  card  game. 
.  .  .  Now,  hold  your  horses!"  he  commanded, 
as  Fingie  scowled  and  would  have  spoken. 
"I  don't  mean  anything  for  you  to  get  mad 
about.  Only,  the  four  of  you  were  doing  me 
up.  I  had  too  much  of  Murphy's  dope,  and 
tried  a  silly  trick.  It  failed,  as  it  ought  to 
have  failed,  and  I  was  in  bad.  I'm  sorry,  and 
I  want  you  to  let  bygones  be  bygones.  You 
bruised  me  up  good  and  plenty,  if  that's  any 
satisfaction  to  you,  and,  besides,  you  got  my 
money.  Not  quite  all  of  it,  however!"  he 
added  suggestively.  He  noted  with  satisfac 
tion  the  increasing  amiability  of  Fingie's  ex 
pression,  and  the  avaricious  glint  in  the  ferret 
eyes  of  the  man  at  the  concluding  wrords. 

"What's  the  game?"  Fingie  demanded 
bluntly. 

Dan  forthwith  revealed  in  detail  the  work 
he  required  to  be  done.  He  felt  himself  safe 
in  being  candid  with  this  accomplice,  wrho  was 
wholly  free  from  any  moral  restraints,  and 


52     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW. 

who,  as  he  now  made  known  with  many  oaths, 
was  still  suffering  from  a  swollen  jaw,  the 
result  of  one  of  Jim's  blows.  In  fine,  the 
gambler  entered  into  the  conspiracy  with  such 
evident  zest  that  Dan  was  able  to  make  a  bet 
ter  bargain  than  he  had  expected  for  his  serv 
ices  and  those  of  his  mistress.  For  an  hour, 
the  two  discussed  the  vicious  plot,  and  then, 
at  Dan's  bidding,  Fingie  went  in  quest  of  the 
woman,  Jess.  Presently,  he  returned  with 
her,  and  she,  too,  was  stirred  to  pleasurable 
anticipations  of  the  evils  to  be  wrought 
through  her  aid.  For,  on  one  occasion,  she 
had  cast  languishing  and  provocative  glances 
on  Jim  Maxwell,  which  he  had  returned  with 
a  look  in  which  pity  could  not  conceal  re 
pugnance. 

There  was  a  round  of  drinks  for  the  three, 
and  then  Dan  made  his  payment  to  the  gam 
bler.  This  done,  Jess  was  seated  at  the  table 
with  writing  materials,  and  took  from  Dan's 
dictation  a  note,  which  she  wrote  in  her  nat 
ural  hand,  without  any  effort  toward  disguise, 
and  signed  with  her  own  name.  When,  at 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     53 

last,  the  worthy  pair  took  their  leave,  that  note 
remained  in  the  possession  of  their  host. 

Dangerous  Dan's  activities  for  the  day  were 
not  yet  completed.  Within  an  hour,  he  was 
astride  a  horse  from  the  hotel  livery,  riding 
rapidly  toward  the  Maxwell  ranch.  When 
he  was  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the 
house,  he  dismounted,  and  hid  his  horse  be 
hind  some  bushes  by  the  roadside.  He  wrent 
forward  on  foot  cautiously,  for  it  was  moon 
light,  and  objects  were  clearly  discernible. 
Yet,  he  had  little  apprehension  of  being  ob 
served,  for  he  knew  the  customs  of  the  place: 
that,  though  it  still  lacked  an  hour  to  mid 
night,  the  household  would  doubtless  be  fast 
asleep.  There  were  dogs,  it  was  true,  which 
ran  at  large;  but  with  these  Dan  had  made 
friends,  and  they  would  raise  no  outcry  against 
him,  though  he  came  with  malignant  pur 
pose. 

Dan,  after  he  reached  the  lawns  that  spread 
before  the  house,  picked  his  way  so  as  to  keep 
within  the  shadows  of  the  trees  and  shrub 
beries.  He  avoided  the  gravel  of  the  drive 


54     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

and  the  walks,  going  noiselessly  over  the  turf. 
The  dogs  charged  upon  him,  welcoming,  but 
gave  no  alarm.  Burglary  was  a  thing  almost 
unknown  in  this  region,  and  the  ranch-house, 
as  Dan  knew,  was  left  quite  unprotected  from 
thievery — or  worse.  The  prowler,  when  he 
had  come  to  the  porch,  took  off  his  shoes,  and 
then  crept  silently  up  the  steps,  and  on  to  a 
window  of  the  living-room.  As  he  had  an 
ticipated,  it  was  open,  though  there  was  a  wire 
screen.  Under  Dan's  hand,  the  screen  was 
raised.  It  slid  easily  along  its  grooves,  and 
in  another  moment  Dan  stepped  into  the  room. 
Enough  moonlight  fell  through  the  side  win 
dows  for  him  to  see  his  way  distinctly.  He 
crossed  to  a  corner  in  which  was  a  writing- 
desk,  commonly  used  by  the  master  of  the 
house  for  the  keeping  of  papers  not  sufficiently 
important  for  the  safe.  Conspicuous  upon  it 
was  lying  a  letter-case  of  Russia  leather. 
Dan  could  distinguish  the  darker  shadow  of 
its  outline  upon  the  surface  of  oak.  With  a 
deft  certainty  of  movement,  he  took  from  his 
pocket  the  note  he  had  that  night  dictated  to 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     55 

the  gambler's  woman,  and,  opening  the  case, 
thrust  it  within  one  of  the  compartments. 
Immediately,  he  retraced  his  steps  across  the 
room,  and  climbed  out  through  the  window, 
wrhere  he  paused  to  lower  the  screen.  When 
he  had  descended  the  porch  steps,  he  sat  down 
on  the  grass,  and  put  on  his  shoes  again.  In 
due  time,  he  reached  his  horse,  and  rode  back 
to  the  town,  filled  with  unholy  joy  over  the 
success  of  his  expedition. 

Dan,  like  many  another  conscienceless 
scoundrel,  slept  soundly  after  his  evil  work. 
Yet,  he  was  early  astir,  for  time  pressed,  and 
there  was  still  much  to  be  done  toward  the 
accomplishment  of  his  design.  He  found  the 
morning  clear,  to  his  vast  relief,  since,  had 
rain  come,  Jim  would  in  all  likelihood  have 
remained  at  the  ranch-house,  thus  shutting  off 
the  possibility  of  Dan's  seeing  Lou  alone, 
which  was  his  immediate  purpose.  At  once, 
then,  after  he  had  breakfasted,  he  mounted 
and  rode  to  the  ranch-house  boldly.  He  had 
no  lack  of  courage,  and  freely  ran  the  risk  of 
meeting  the  man  whose  hospitality  he  had  so 


abused.  That  risk,  he  knew,  must  be  en 
countered  for  the  sake  of  his  plan.  But  he 
knew,  also,  that  the  chances  of  an  encounter 
were  small  with  the  harvest  requiring  the 
rancher's  presence  in  the  fields. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  when  he  rode  up  to  the 
house,  he  neither  saw  nor  heard  anything  of 
its  master.  But,  even  before  he  dropped  from 
the  saddle,  he  saw  Lou,  sitting  on  the  porch 
with  idly  folded  hands,  and  with  an  expres 
sion  of  deep  melancholy  casting  its  shadows 
over  the  delicate  loveliness  of  her  face.  Dan's 
heart  leaped  exultantly.  He  wondered  if,  by 
any  chance,  the  reflex  of  her  mood  from  yes 
terday  might  contain  some  measure  of  sadness 
on  his  account.  The  slightest  feeling  of 
womanly  compassion  for  the  culprit  might 
prove  invaluable  to  him  in  his  campaign  of 
treachery.  He  was  annoyed  for  a  moment 
over  the  presence  of  Nell  on  the  porch,  play 
ing  with  a  doll.  But  a  second  thought  caused 
him  to  decide  that  the  child's  company  at  the 
outset  of  the  interview  might  be  of  benefit  to 
him,  as  likely  to  place  restraint  on  the  mother's 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     57 

expression  of  anger  against  him.  .  .  .  That  he 
was  right  in  his  conjecture,  the  issue  proved. 

At  sight  of  Dan  McGrew,  riding  to  the 
door  from  which  he  had  been  so  ignominiously 
spurned  less  than  twenty-four  hours  before, 
Lou  Maxwell  sat  in  dazed  amazement,  which 
swiftly  merged  in  anger,  untinged  by  any 
thought  of  fear.  That  the  man  was  dan 
gerous,  she  knew.  But  she  was  no  longer  to 
be  entrapped  by  a  belief  in  the  self-restraint 
of  this  lover.  Moreover,  she  was  on  her 
guard  now,  not  unsuspecting,  as  yesterday. 
And,  too,  there  were  servants  within  call. 
These  things  flashed  upon  her  in  the  instant  of 
perceiving  him.  So,  she  knew  that  she  need 
not  fear  anything  from  him  beyond  the  insult 
of  his  presence.  But  that  he  should  dare  thus 
to  approach  startled  and  confounded  her  by 
the  sheer  audacity  of  the  act.  She  was  stu 
pefied  by  the  effrontery  of  the  man  as  he  dis 
mounted  and  ascended  the  steps  toward  her. 
She  rose,  under  a  sudden  impulse  of  resent 
ment,  and  stood  regarding  him  with  a  level 
gaze,  wherein  was  contempt  that  might  have 


58     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

caused  a  weaker  man  to  quail.  But  Danger 
ous  Dan  had  the  courage  of  his  wickedness, 
and  he  was  not  to  be  intimidated,  or  swerved 
from  his  design,  by  her  contumely,  even 
though  to  win  her  favor  was  the  dearest  pur 
pose  of  his  heart.  For  the  present,  he  must 
withstand  stolidly  the  shafts  of  her  disdain,  to 
the  end  that  he  might  entice  her  to  his  will 
against  her  own. 

Dan  swept  the  cap  from  his  head,  and  stood 
undaunted,  yet  with  an  air  of  humility  that 
was  disarming.  There  was  something  pitiful 
in  the  appealing  glance  of  his  eyes,  something 
almost  pathetic  in  the  soft  tone  of  humiliation 
with  which  he  spoke. 

"I  want  you  to  forgive  me,  Lou — if  you  can 
forgive  me — for  a  madness  I  couldn't  help. 
.  .  .  I'm  sorry." 

Somehow,  the  woman  was  appeased,  de 
spite  herself.  Her  wrath  against  the  man 
who  had  affronted  her  so  mortally  was  no 
whit  lessened;  yet,  his  manner  of  humble  con 
trition  touched  her,  against  her  will,  to  a  feel 
ing  of  compassion.  She  still  loathed  him; 


59 

notwithstanding,  her  mood  was  unmistakably 
tinctured  by  commiseration.  She  hesitated 
for  a  moment,  then  turned  toward  Nell,  who, 
with  round  eyes  of  wonder,  was  regarding  her 
mother  and  their  late  visitor. 

"Run  out  in  the  rose-garden,  dear,"  she  said 
quietly,  "and  play  there  for  a  little  while." 

The  child  went  obediently  enough,  though 
with  obvious  reluctance,  for  her  curiosity  was 
aroused.  She  had  passed  from  sight  around 
the  corner  of  the  house  before  Lou  spoke 
again.  Then,  she  did  not  mince  her  words : 

"You  have  no  right  either  to  ask  or  to  ex 
pect  forgiveness,"  she  said  sternly.  Her  voice 
was  very  cold,  charged  with  bitter  contempt. 
"You  have  shown  the  kind  of  a  man  you  really 
are.  Nothing  can  change  that.  I  despise 
you  utterly.  I  hope  I  shall  never  set  eyes  on 
you  again.  I  do  not  wish  to  hear  another 
word  from  you.  Your  presence  is  hateful  to 
me.  Go!  My  husband  may  come  at  any  mo 
ment,  and,  if  he  finds  you  here,  he'll  kill  you 
on  sight,  as  you  deserve." 

With  the  last  words,  she  turned  from  him, 


60     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

unheeding  his  exclamation  of  remonstrance, 
and  went  into  the  living-room. 

Dan  did  not  hesitate  to  follow  her. 

"Let  me  say  this  much,  at  least,"  he  pleaded, 
still  with  utmost  humility.  "I  sinned  so  be 
cause  I  loved  you  so.  I  could  not  hold  myself 
back.  Forgive  me,  Lou."  His  voice  was  ten 
derly  entreating. 

The  woman  faced  him  resolutely.  Her 
eyes  were  sparkling  with  wrath,  her  voice 
shook  a  little  under  the  throb  of  emotion. 

"You,  and  your  love!"  she  cried,  in  disgust. 
"Faugh!  Must  I  summon  the  servants  to  put 
you  out  of  the  house?" 

Dan  made  an  appealing  gesture.  He  an 
swered  with  a  tone  of  deprecation. 

"No,  Lou,  you  need  not  do  that.  I'll  go 
in  a  moment,  and  never  trouble  you  again. 
But,  before  I  go,  I  must  tell  you  one  thing — 
why  I  lost  my  self-control  yesterday.  It  wras 
because  I  saw  you  so  tender  and  fond  and  de 
voted  and  unsuspecting  in  your  love  for  a 
man  who  is — unworthy!" 

Lou  started  involuntarily,  then  stood  rigid, 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     61 

too  astounded  for  speech.  But,  in  another 
moment,  she  cried  out  in  vehement  rebuke: 

"How  dare  you  speak  like  that  of  Jim!" 
Her  tone  was  virulent;  the  dark-brown  eyes, 
usually  so  limpidly  soft  in  their  light,  flashed 
with  the  fires  of  her  anger.  "Jim  is  as  clean 
as  you  are  foul.  How  dare  you  insinuate 
anything  against  him!  Almost,  I  wish  I 
hadn't  interfered  to  save  your  life  yesterday. 
Oh,  you  beast!  How  dare  you!" 

"Because  it's  true,"  Dan  retorted.  He  felt 
now  that  the  situation  was  well  within  his 
grasp,  and  there  was  an  authoritative  ring  in 
his  voice  that  somehow,  against  her  will, 
caused  a  chill  of  apprehension  in  his  listener. 
He  went  on  speaking  swiftly,  with  incisive 
earnestness,  as  one  not  to  be  denied.  "You 
see,  Lou,  I  know  the  truth,  and  you  do  not. 
For  example,  where  is  Jim  this  morning?" 

He  shot  the  question  at  her  with  such 
unexpectedness  that  she  answered  involuntar- 
ily: 

"Why,  Jim's  out  in  the  fields,  of  course." 
She  realized  suddenly  the  insolence  of  the 


62     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

question,  and  would  have  added  a  scathing  re 
buke. 

But  Dan  went  on  imperturbably: 

"Of  course,  you  say  that,  because  you  do 
not  know.  But  he  was  wise  enough  to  tell 
you  that  he  must  go  to  town  to-day,  to  attend 
the  meeting  of  the  directors  of  the  bank." 

Lou  smiled  in  derision. 

"To-day  is  the  regular  weekly  meeting,"  she 
said,  with  an  inflection  of  dawning  curiosity, 
which  Dan  noted  complacently.  "He  always 
goes  to  the  bank-meeting.  Why  shouldn't  he?" 

"No  reason  at  all,"  was  the  suave  response. 
"But  there  is  every  reason  in  decency  why  he 
should  not  go  to  another  place,  of  which  you 
know  nothing."  He  spoke  in  a  voice  that  was 
significant,  grave,  portentous.  "That's  where 
he  is  now." 

"You  mean  something — something  nasty,  I 
suppose,"  the  wife  exclaimed.  Her  tone  was 
full  of  abhorrence  for  this  traducer  of  the 
man  she  loved  and  trusted.  "I'll  listen  to 
none  of  your  lies  against  Jim,  Dan  Mc- 
Grew. 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     63 

"I  chanced  on  some  information  in  the  town 
last  night,"  Dan  persisted,  undismayed  by  her 
outbreak.  "I  have  heard  gossip  before. 
There's  a  woman — one  of  the  sort  you  good 
women  shrink  from.  She  had  been  drinking 
too  much.  She  let  drop  something  about  the 
rich  man  who  was  coming  to  visit  her  to-day, 
and  she  said  his  name  was  Jim." 

Lou  felt  a  tremor  of  fear.  The  jealousy 
that  sleeps  or  wakes  in  the  heart  of  all  lovers 
stirred  \vithin  her  for  the  first  time.  She 
sought  to  stifle  it,  ashamed  of  even  a  thought 
of  doubt  as  to  her  husband's  loyalty.  It  was 
monstrous  that  she  should  be  thus  moved  by 
slanderous  accusations  of  one  for  whom  she 
had  only  contempt.  Again,  she  would  have 
spoken,  but  the  man  forestalled  her. 

"The  woman,  whose  name  is  Jess,  was 
bragging  in  her  cups  that  her  lover,  Jim,  al 
ways  came  when  she  sent  for  him.  And  she 
said  she  had  written  him — Jim — to  visit  her 
to-day." 

The  speaker's  sneering  assurance,  his  malig 
nant  emphasis  on  her  husband's  name,  filled 


64     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

the  measure  of  the  wife's  wrath  full  to  over 
flowing.  She  advanced  a  step,  raised  her 
right  arm,  and  with  all  her  strength  struck  the 
palm  of  her  hand  across  Dan's  cheek. 

"Liar!"  she  cried,  savagely. 

The  man  did  not  flinch  under  the  blow. 
The  eyes  of  the  two  clashed,  and  held  steadily. 
Dan's  cheek  whitened  where  the  stroke  had 
fallen,  then  burned  redly.  It  was  the  woman's 
gaze  that  dropped  at  last,  and  Dan  smiled, 
cynically  exultant. 

"I  don't  ask  you  to  believe  me,"  he  said  im 
pressively.  "I  only  ask  you  to  open  your  eyes 
to  the  truth.  I  suppose  Jim  would  take  pains 
to  destroy  any  note  from  the  woman,  Jess. 
But  there's  always  a  chance.  Men  get  care 
less  when  they  have  wives  that  are  so  very 
trusting."  His  sharp  eyes  perceived  a  lessen 
ing  tension  in  the  woman's  form,  a  growing 
listlessness  in  the  expression  of  her  face.  He 
knew  that  there  had  come  a  reaction  from  the 
strain  of  her  emotions,  that  her  will  was  grow 
ing  impotent,  that  now,  at  last,  she  would  be 
pliant  to  his  purpose. 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     65 

He  strode  to  the  desk,  and  drew  out  the 
letter-case,  while  Lou  watched  his  every  move 
ment  narrowly,  as  though  she  expected  some 
trickery,  while  powerless  further  to  combat 
him.  Her  loyalty  to  Jim  was  no  less,  but  her 
powers  of  resistance  had  snapped.  So,  she 
looked  on  as  Dan  fumbled  for  a  moment 
among  the  papers  in  the  letter-case,  and  then 
held  out  to  her  the  note  that  the  woman  had 
written  in  his  room  at  the  hotel,  the  night 
before. 

Lou  took  it  rather  gropingly,  in  mechanical 
obedience,  because  of  the  utter  weariness  that 
was  fallen  upon  her.  She  read  it  with  eyes 
that  were  dimmed — and  again.  Then,  she 
stood  staring  still  at  the  page  of  coarse  paper 
with  its  rudely  scrawled  lines,  with  its  words 
of  vile  insinuation;  but  her  gaze  was  unsee 
ing.  The  man's  voice  came  to  her  very 
faintly,  as  from  a  great  distance. 

"Well?" 

"It's  all  a  lie,  of  course,"  Lou  said,  feebly. 
"But  I — don't  understand." 

The  cynical  exultation  in  Dan's  smile  grew. 


66     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

At  last,  he  was  bold  enough  to  bring  the  af 
fair  to  a  crisis. 

"Do  you  dare  to  ride  with  me  to  the  town, 
to  test  the  thing  for  yourself?" 

"Do  I  dare?"  Lou  repeated,  arousing  in 
some  degree  from  her  apathy.  "What  do  you 
mean?" 

"I  mean  just  that,"  he  said.  His  voice  was 
intentionally  brutal.  "You've  begun  already 
to  be  afraid  of  the  truth.  Do  you  dare  to 
ride  to  town  with  me,  and  so  test  the  truth  with 
your  own  eyes?" 

The  taunt  provoked  her  to  a  new  anger,  to  a 
new  strength.  Once  again,  the  slender  form 
grew  tense,  the  head  was  raised  proudly.  Her 
voice  came  harshly.  There  was  no  note  of 
fear  in  it  now,  only  a  great  disdain  and  some 
thing  of  cruelty. 

"I  will  ride  with  you,  Dan  McGrew,"  was 
her  answer,  "to  find  my  husband,  and  I  shall 
tell  him  what  you've  said,  and  he'll  kill  you. 
Now,  do  you  dare?" 

"I  dare,"  the  man  said,  quietly.     "Let's  go." 


DAN  McGREW  had  plotted  with  dev 
ilish  cleverness.  He  had  seized  on  the 
fact  of  Jim's  attendance  at  the  bank-meeting 
as  timely  to  his  purpose.  He  had,  indeed, 
made  it  the  pivot  about  which  the  details  of 
his  scheming  were  grouped.  As  a  result  of 
his  carefulness  in  planning,  during  the  hour  of 
his  interview  with  Lou,  Fingie  Whalen  was 
stationed  in  the  street  outside  Murphy's  saloon. 
He  sat  on  a  bench  that  stood  against  the  wall 
of  the  structure,  and  smoked  incessant  ciga 
rettes,  the  while  his  ferret  eyes  scanned  closely 
the  length  of  the  main  street,  down  which  Jim 
Maxwell  must  ride  on  his  way  to  the  bank. 
Just  before  him,  a  saddled  horse  stood  pa 
tiently,  with  the  bridle-rein  trailing.  Within 
the  saloon,  Jess,  also,  waited — with  a  drink,  as 
well  as  a  cigarette,  to  comfort  her  in  the  iiv 
terval.  Thus,  it  befell  that,  when  Jim  Max- 

67 


68     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

well  came  riding  briskly  into  the  town,  his  ap 
proach  was  noted  from  afar  by  eyes  hired  for 
the  purpose.  Instantly,  then,  Fingie  acted. 
He  sprang  up,  and  darted  into  the  back  room 
of  the  saloon,  where  he  called  Jess's  name,  and 
beckoned.  The  response  of  the  woman  was 
no  less  prompt.  She  stood  up  quickly,  and 
hurried  out  of  the  place,  while  Fingie  himself 
remained  to  peer  anxiously  from  the  window 
that  gave  on  the  street.  There,  for  a  minute, 
he  observed  events  outside.  Afterward,  he 
lounged  against  the  bar  with  a  gratified  smirk. 
Jim,  as  he  rode  slowly  down  the  main  street, 
idly  noted  the  woman  who  hastened  out  of 
Murphy's,  and  mounted  astride  the  horse. 
He  wondered  a  little  that  she  did  not  start 
away.  But,  as  he  drew  closer,  his  keen  eyes 
perceived  that  the  form  of  the  woman  was 
swaying  unsteadily  in  the  saddle.  Alarmed 
for  her  safety,  though  with  a  suspicion  that 
only  excess  of  drink  ailed  her,  Jim  quickened 
his  horse's  pace — too  late.  Before  he  could 
reach  her,  the  woman  lurched,  and  fell  heavily 
to  the  ground,  where  she  lay  motionless,  evi- 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     69 

dently  stunned,  if  not  more  seriously  injured, 
while  the  startled  horse  backed  away  snuffing. 

Jim  was  on  the  ground  almost  as  quickly  as 
the  woman  herself,  and  was  beside  her  before 
the  few  others  in  the  street  who  came  running. 
He  did  the  natural  thing  under  the  circum 
stances,  precisely  as  Dan  McGrew  had  ex 
pected  that  he  would.  Since  the  woman  lay 
with  closed  eyes,  showing  no  signs  of  con 
sciousness,  unless  in  the  faint  moaning  that  is 
sued  from  her  rouged  lips,  Jim  lifted  her  in 
his  arms,  and  bore  her  through  the  side  door, 
which  Fingie  had  thoughtfully  left  ajar,  into 
the  back  room  of  Murphy's  saloon.  ...  It 
was  at  this  moment  that  the  gambler  left  the 
window  to  lounge  unconcernedly  against  the 
bar.  Jim  carried  his  burden  to  one  of  the 
round  tables  which  was  empty,  and  placed  her 
gently  upon  it,  continuing  to  support  her  with 
his  arms  about  the  waist  and  shoulders. 

"Bring  brandy!"  he  called  out  sharply  to 
the  nearest  of  the  occupants  of  the  room,  who 
now  came  crowding  forward  with  ejacula 
tions  of  dismay.  The  man  addressed  was  Fin- 


70     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

gie  Whalen  himself.  He  stared  down  at  the 
woman  with  shocked  surprise  writ  large  on 
his  sullen  features. 

"Why,  it's  Jess!"  he  mumbled,  in  a  voice 
that  he  vainly  strove  to  fill  with  distress. 
"Whatever  has  she  been  an'  gone,  an'  done?" 

"Get  that  brandy!"  Jim  reiterated  the 
command  curtly. 

"Yes,  sir,"  Fingie  answered  humbly,  and 
hurried  off  to  the  bar.  In  a  moment,  he  was 
back  with  the  liquor,  which  he  held  to  the 
woman's  lips.  To  Jim's  relief,  Jess  swal 
lowed  the  draft  easily  enough — to  tell  the 
truth,  rather  greedily;  but  of  that  fact  her 
rescuer  was  quite  unaware,  and  from  it  he 
augured  well. 

Jess  managed  her  apparent  recovery  from 
the  effects  of  the  fall  with  such  art  as  she 
possessed,  which,  in  truth,  was  not  of  the 
highest,  though  ample  for  the  beguiling  of  a 
man  who  was  honest  and  kindly  and  wholly 
unsuspecting.  Soon,  her  eyes  unclosed  a  lit 
tle,  and  she  breathed  more  deeply,  and  the 
moaning,  which  had  been  interrupted  by  the 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     71 

brandy,  was  resumed  more  vigorously. 
Through  the  paint  on  her  cheeks  showed  the 
deeper  red  of  a  genuine  flush,  the  natural  re 
sult  of  the  dram,  but  a  sure  evidence  of  vi 
tality,  none  the  less.  Jim  rejoiced  over  these 
signs  of  restoration,  and  even  smiled  on  Fin- 
gie,  as  he  bade  him  continue  the  charing  of 
the  woman's  hands. 

"She's  not  seriously  hurt,"  he  remarked, 
with  much  satisfaction  in  his  voice;  "though 
the  way  she  flopped  off  that  horse  was  enough 
to  jar  her  teeth  loose."  Being  ignorant  of  the 
fact  that  Jess  had  been  a  member  of  a  circus 
troupe  before  she  yielded  to  the  blandishments 
of  the  gambler,  Jim  wondered  mightily  that  so 
severe  a  fall  should  have  had  no  worse  effect. 

Jess  opened  her  eyes  wide,  and  stared  up 
blankly  into  the  face  of  the  man  who  held  her 
in  his  arms. 

"Where  am  I?"  she  asked,  with  the  lan 
guid  air  of  her  favorite  stage  heroine  when 
swooning. 

"It's  all  right,"  Jim  hastened  to  explain 
soothingly,  having  due  regard  to  her  dazed 


condition.  "You  were  dizzy  for  a  second,  I 
suspect,  and  fell  from  your  horse.  But  there 
doesn't  seem  to  be  anything  much  the  matter, 
and  you'll  be  all  right  in  a  jiffy."  He  ad 
dressed  Fingie. 

"Bring  her  another  nip  of  the  brandy." 
The  gambler  would  have  remonstrated 
against  this  unnecessary  extravagance,  but 
could  find  no  plausible  reason  for  refusal,  and 
Jess,  who  was  enjoying  herself  hugely,  offered 
him  no  assistance.  When  the  drink  had  been 
brought,  she  swallowed  it  without  too  much 
display  of  eagerness,  and  coughed  as  a  lady 
should  who  is  unaccustomed  to  strong  waters. 
At  once  thereafter,  she  straightened  up  to  a 
sitting  posture  on  the  table,  though  she  still 
accepted  the  support  of  Jim's  arms  to  his  dis 
comfiture,  and  regarded  him  with  coquettish 
glances  of  gratitude,  which  were  offensive  to 
him,  and  to  Fingie  Whalen  as  well.  He  tried 
to  withdraw  his  arms,  but  she  leaned  upon  him 
too  heavily,  and  he  was  forced  for  a  few  min 
utes  longer  to  retain  her  in  a  passive  embrace. 
But,  as  he  repeated  the  effort  tentatively,  Jess 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW    73 

bethought  herself  that  her  recovery  had  now 
advanced  so  far  as  to  make  such  support  un 
necessary.  Therefore,  to  play  her  part,  she 
withdrew  herself,  and  sat  up  unassisted,  but 
with  a  hand  to  her  brow  to  indicate  that  her 
brain  had  not  yet  wholly  cleared. 

"Oh,  you  have  been  so  good  to  me,  Mister!" 
she  gushed.  "I  shall  be  thankful  to  you  to 
my  dying  day.  Why,"  she  added  in  a  burst 
of  imagination,  "the  horse  might  have  stepped 
on  me,  if  you  hadn't  been  right  there  to  save 


me." 


"Nothing  like  that,  I'm  sure,"  Jim  declared, 
as  amiably  as  he  could  contrive.  "The  horse 
seemed  to  be  doing  his  best  not  to  step  on  you 
without  any  help  from  me.  You  don't  owe 
me  any  thanks,  really." 

Jess  put  out  an  appealing  hand.  It  was  ac 
cepted  reluctantly  by  Jim,  and,  with  his  as 
sistance,  and  that  of  Fingie  on  the  other  side, 
she  got  down  from  the  table  totteringly,  and 
sank  into  a  chair,  where  she  sat  limply,  with 
closed  eyes,  following  her  role  devotedly  to 
the  end. 


74    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

"You'll  have  a  drink  with  us,  Mr.  Max 
well,"  Fingie  urged,  twisting  his  lowering  fea 
tures  to  an  expression  of  affability.  "What's 
past  is  past  an'  done.  You  sure  did  give  me 
an  almighty  swat  on  the  jaw  t'other  day,  but 
I  ain't  one  to  nuss  no  grouch,  an'  Jess  here,  an' 
me,  we're  plumb  grateful  for  yer  kindness  to 
her  this  mornin'.  What'll  you  have,  Mr. 
Maxwell?  I'll  bring  it." 

Jim  shook  his  head  in  refusal.  He,  too, 
had  no  wish  to  nourish  a  grudge;  but  he  had 
no  liking  for  the  gambler — less  for  the  woman, 
whose  tawdry  airs  nauseated  him.  He  was 
already  a  little  disgusted,  with  the  episode, 
and  desirous  to  end  it. 

Jess  saw  the  refusal  in  his  face,  and  was 
quick  to  intervene;  for  failure  now  would 
mean  the  utter  collapse  of  all  their  plotting. 
She  spoke  gently,  and,  in  the  genuineness  of 
her  anxiety,  her  voice  trembled  with  appeal : 

"Please,  sir — please,  Mr.  Maxwell!"  she  be 
sought  him. 

Jim,  in  spite  of  his  repulsion,  was  touched 
by  the  woman's  earnestness.  His  sense  of 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     75 

chivalry  impelled  him  to  yield  to  a  plea  so 
natural  and  so  ingenuous  on  her  part  He 
smiled,  a  bit  wryly,  in  answer  to  her  imploring 
look,  and  nodded  assent. 

"I'll  have  a  glass  of  beer,"  he  said  to  Fin- 
gie,  and,  as  the  gambler  hurried  off  to  the  bar, 
he  seated  himself  at  the  table  beside  Jess. 

The  woman  prattled  nervously,  made  gar 
rulous  by  the  brandy,  and  by  fatuous  ambition 
to  impress  this  aloof  companion  with  her 
charms.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  conspiracy 
came  perilously  near  to  failure  in  consequence 
of  her  chatting,  which  almost  drove  Jim  to 
flight.  His  instinct  of  politeness,  however, 
conquered  inclination,  and  he  remained  in  his 
place,  listening  with  a  forced  semblance  of 
interest  to  hide  how  desperately  he  was  bored. 
Yet,  throughout,  he  rested  without  a  faintest 
suspicion  that  this  affair  was  aught  beyond  the 
innocent  thing  it  seemed.  To  him,  the  hap 
pening  was  merely  a  nuisance — nothing  more, 
nothing  in  any  wise  sinister.  It  did  not  occur 
to  him  to  wonder  why  Fingie  should  have 
volunteered  to  serve  as  their  waiter.  He  did 


76    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

not  trouble  even  to  follow  the  gambler  with 
his  eyes,  as  the  fellow  went  to  the  bar. 

For  that  matter,  it  would  have  availed  Jim 
nothing,  had  he  watched  never  so  closely. 
The  card-sharp  possessed  the  dexterity  of  his 
trade.  Those  long,  slender,  mobile  fingers  of 
his  had  been  fashioned  by  fate  for  a  surgeon, 
a  conjurer,  a  gambler,  or  a  pick-pocket.  Not 
even  the  keen-eyed  bartender,  who  was  close 
to  him,  noticed  the  tiny  vial  in  Fingie's  hand, 
as  it  hovered  over  the  frothing  glass  of  beer 
on  the  counter,  or  saw  the  trickle  of  the  color 
less  drops  into  the  brew.  So,  the  gambler 
came  back  to  the  table  presently,  with  a  tray, 
on  which  were  two  glasses  of  brandy — one  for 
himself,  of  generous  size;  the  other  for  Jess, 
so  tiny  that  she  frowned  indignantly  at  sight 
of  it — and  the  glass  of  beer  for  Jim.  The 
three  drank  together.  .  .  .  Then,  the  gambler 
and  his  woman  watched  avidly  for  what 
should  befall. 

There  was  no  delay.  Jim,  glad  that  the 
ordeal  was  at  last  done,  would  have  risen  to 
leave.  But  a  strange  lethargy  held  him  fast- 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     77 

bound.  A  black  cloud  descended  on  his 
brain ;  thought  ceased.  Suddenly,  he  slumped 
in  his  chair.  His  arms  dropped  heavily  on 
the  table.  His  head  fell  on  them.  Fingie 
and  Jess  chuckled  aloud  in  gloating  over  the 
inert  form  of  the  man.  They  were  not  afraid 
lest  he  hear  them,  now. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THERE  was  not  a  word  exchanged  be 
tween  Lou  and  Dan  on  their  ride  from 
the  ranch-house  to  the  town.  For  his  part, 
the  man  was  filled  with  rejoicing  over  the  tri 
umph  that  he  anticipated.  He  had  no  fear 
of  failure.  The  ingenuity  of  his  plot  insured 
success.  Its  strength  lay  in  the  seeming  sim 
plicity  of  the  events  that  would  lead  to  the 
desired  climax.  Dan's  only  doubt  had  been 
concerning  his  ability  to  hold' the  woman  to 
his  will,  and  to  make  her  play  her  vital  part 
in  his  machinations.  He  had  realized  that 
he  would  have  need  of  all  his  wit  to  secure 
from  her  even  a  hearing  of  his  accusations 
against  the  man  she  loved.  By  his  arts,  he 
had  enticed  her  into  listening,  and  by  reason 
of  the  very  indignation  thus  aroused,  he  had 
warped  her  mood  to  his  purpose.  So,  he 
went  forward  full  of  confidence  as  to  the  out- 

78 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     79 

come,  exultant,  heedless  of  the  misery  of  the 
woman  who  rode  by  his  side. 

That  misery  was  poignant.  At  intervals, 
wrath  flamed  high  in  her,  and  she  longed  for 
the  moment  when  she  should  bring  the  two 
men  face  to  face,  that  the  slanderer  might  re 
ceive  the  punishment  he  merited  from  the  one 
maligned.  But,  oftener,  her  emotion  dropped 
into  abysses  of  despair.  There  had  been 
something  unspeakably  revolting  to  her 
wifely  instincts  in  the  tawdry  phrases  of  the 
ill-written  note,  signed  "Your  loving  Jess." 
Her  spirit  writhed  as  she  recalled  the  words, 
so  damning  in  their  explicitness:  "Shall  ex 
pect  you  at  the  usual  time.  Don't  let  your 
trusting  Lou  keep  you  away,  as  I  can't  do 
without  you."  The  wife  found  herself  com 
pelled  to  fight  with  all  her  energies  against 
the  demon  of  doubt  that  so  hideously  beset 
her.  That  note  had  been  addressed  to  "Dear 
est  Jim."  And  Jim  was  her  husband's  name, 
and  the  note  had  been  lying  in  his  letter-case. 
And,  if  these  things  of  themselves  were  not 
enough  to  sap  faith,  there  was  the  sneering 


8o    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

use  of  her  own  name:  "Don't  let  your  trust 
ing  Lou  keep  you  away."  The  distracted 
wife  told  herself  a  hundred  times  that  her  be 
lief  in  the  loyalty  of  her  husband  remained  un 
shaken,  but  it  was  not  so.  She  lied  to  herself, 
from  very  horror  of  the  truth.  Only  by  fierce 
and  incessant  denials  of  the  doubt  that  welled 
in  her  could  she  repel  the  assaults  of  despair. 
Of  the  man  beside  her,  she  thought  hardly  at 
all,  except  in  the  fitful  and  constantly  lessen 
ing  flashes  of  her  anger.  Her  thought  was  for 
the  husband,  with  a  pitiful  wondering  over 
the  hateful  mystery  that  had  come  to  pass. 
Oh,  surely,  there  was  some  simple  explanation 
of  it  all — there  must  be!  It  was  a  hoax,  a 
jest,  some  misunderstanding — anything!  But, 
though  she  argued  against  belief,  there  re 
mained  always  in  her  consciousness  the  stub 
born,  sickening  facts,  and  a  great  dread  lay 
crushingly  upon  her  spirit.  The  agony  of 
suspense  grew  unbearable.  Her  quirt  rose 
and  fell  in  a  vicious  lash  on  the  flanks  of  the 
mare.  The  astonished  thoroughbred  leaped 
and  stretched  into  a  run.  .  .  Dan  McGrew 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW    81 

pressed  his  own  mount  forward,  to  keep  pace. 

While  the  two  thus  rode  toward  the  town, 
there  was  a  period  of  tedious  inaction  for 
Dan's  accomplices.  In  the  back  room  of 
Murphy's  saloon,  Jess  remained  impatiently 
in  her  seat  at  the  table,  with  the  empty  brandy 
glass  before  her.  She  would  have  liked  an 
other  drink,  but  dared  not  call  for  it,  since  it 
had  been  forbidden  by  her  master,  because  her 
part  in  the  sordid  drama  was  not  yet  finished. 
Beside  her,  Jim  sat  motionless,  his  body 
sprawled  clumsily  over  the  table.  He  had 
not  stirred  since  his  yielding  to  the  influence 
of  the  drug.  The  only  evidence  of  life  about 
him  was  the  sound  of  stertorous  breathing. 
The  habitues  of  the  place  had  given  no  heed 
to  him  after  a  few  sneering  comments  con 
cerning  one  who  would  get  drunk  so  early  in 
the  day. 

Fingie  Whalen,  after  he  had  seen  his  drops 
take  effect  on  the  victim,  went  out  of  the  sa 
loon,  and  reestablished  himself  on  the  bench 
against  the  wall,  where  once  again  he  gave 
himself  over  to  an  unremitting  survey  of  the 


82     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

main  street,  down  which  any  one  coming  from 
the  ranch  must  pass.  He  smoked  with  nerv 
ous  rapidity,  which  increased  as  minute  after 
minute  passed,  and  there  was  still  no  sight  of 
those  for  whom  he  watched.  At  the  end  of  an 
hour,  the  gambler's  impatience  had  become 
anxiety.  He  began  to  fear  failure  at  the  last, 
when  success  had  seemed  assured.  It  might 
well  be  that,  in  spite  of  Jess's  note,  Dan 
McGrew  had  been  unable  to  persuade  Lou 
Maxwell  into  accompanying  him.  Or — as 
would  be  equally  disastrous — they  might  come 
too  late.  Fingie  had  been  as  liberal  as  he 
dared  in  the  drugging  of  the  beer,  but  there 
is  a  great  difference  in  the  reactive  powers  of 
various  men  against  such  poison.  He  had  not 
been  minded  to  run  any  risk  of  murder. 
Therefore,  he  could  not  tell  with  precision 
when  Jim  Maxwell  would  recover  conscious 
ness.  As  the  minutes  hurried  on,  Fingie's  fear 
mounted  by  leaps  and  bounds.  From  time  to 
time,  he  left  the  bench,  and  peered  in  through 
the  window,  to  reassure  himself  as  to  the  con 
tinued  unconsciousness  of  the  drugged  man. 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     83 

Then,  at  last,  as  he  turned  from  one  of  these 
glimpses  through  the  window,  Fingie  Whalen 
saw  in  the  distance  the  forms  of  two  riders 
coming  at  a  furious  gallop.  For  a  second,  he 
stood  staring,  to  make  sure  that  there  was  no 
mistake,  that  these  were  in  fact  those  for  whom 
he  had  waited  with  such  anxiety.  In  another 
moment,  he  became  certain  that  one  of  the 
two  who  approached  was  Dan  McGrew. 
The  flapping  of  a  divided  skirt  proved  that  the 
other  rider  was  a  woman.  He  could  no 
longer  doubt  that  McGrew  had  succeeded. 
There  needed  now  only  to  set  the  stage  for  the 
final  scene.  For  the  second  time  that  day, 
Fingie  whirled  and  darted  into  the  saloon. 
He  caught  up  from  the  bar  a  glass  of  brandy, 
which  he  had  left  under  the  barkeeper's 
charge,  since  he  had  not  deemed  it  safe  on  the 
table  within  Jess's  reach.  He  moved  now 
without  undue  haste,  in  order  to  avoid  attract 
ing  attention  to  himself  and  the  others  con 
cerned.  When  he  had  reached  the  table  at 
which  Jess  and  their  victim  were  seated,  he 
put  the  glass  down,  with  a  nod  to  the  woman 


84    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

to  indicate  that  the  end  of  the  play  was  now  at 
hand.  Jess  shoved  her  chair  close  to  that  in 
which  Jim  slouched.  At  the  same  time,  Fin- 
gie  seized  the  unconscious  man  by  the  shoul 
ders,  and  lifted  the  heavy  form  upright  in  the 
chair.  Jim  yielded  limply  to  the  procedure 
• — a  dead  weight  in  the  other's  grasp.  He  was 
still  unconscious.  His  face  was  hot  and 
flushed,  the  face  of  one  under  the  influence  of 
liquor.  His  breath  still  came  noisily.  Fin- 
gie,  straining  under  the  weight,  tilted  the  flac 
cid  body  over  a  little  way,  until  it  rested 
against  the  shoulder  of  Jess,  who  braced  her 
self  to  sustain  it.  Fingie  raised  Jim's  left 
arm,  as  the  unconscious  man  reposed  thus 
against  the  woman  at  his  right,  and  laid  it 
about  her  neck.  Thus  the  two  remained  in 
an  embrace,  which  bore  every  evidence  of 
fondness  that  knew  no  shame  in  this  public 
and  disreputable  place.  Jim's  head  sagged, 
until  it  rested  upon  the  woman's  bosom.  Her 
right  arm  was  wreathed  about  him,  holding 
him  tenaciously,  with  all  her  strength,  lest  he 
lurch  away  from  her.  With  her  left  hand, 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     85 

she  took  up  the  glass  of  brandy,  which  Fingie 
had  brought,  and  held  it  close  to  the  lips  of 
the  unconscious  man. 

Such  was  the  business  of  the  piece,  as  it  had 
been  arranged  beforehand  in  each  detail  by 
the  conspirators.  Jess  cast  a  look  of  inquiry 
toward  the  gambler,  to  learn  whether  or  not 
the  situation  met  all  the  requirements  of  the 
plot.  He  gave  a  brief  nod,  and  grunted  ap 
proval.  He  heard  the  clatter  of  hoofs  in  the 
street  outside — a  clatter  of  hoofs  of  horses 
ridden  in  haste.  It  ceased  just  without  the 
door  of  the  saloon.  Fingie  walked  quietly 
to  the  bar.  A  quick  glance  about  showed  that 
the  attention  of  none  had  been  attracted  to  his 
movements.  He  grinned  evilly  in  anticipa 
tion.  .  .  .  From  the  time  when  he  had  first 
sighted  the  riders,  not  more  than  a  half-min 
ute  had  elapsed.  He  leaned  against  the  bar, 
and  stared  furtively  toward  the  window  that 
gave  on  the  street. 

Dan  McGrew  drew  close  alongside  Lou,  as 
the  pair  pounded  down  the  main  street  of  the 
town. 


86    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

"Stop  at  the  corner,  this  side  of  the  bank," 
he  called  to  her.  "At  Murphy's  saloon." 

The  woman  shivered  as  her  ears  caught  the 
words.  She  knew  the  character  of  the  noto 
rious  place,  which  catered  to  the  most  de 
praved  tastes  of  the  community.  Was  it  to  a 
resort  so  ignoble  that  she  must  go  to  refute  the 
slander  against  her  husband?  To  refute  itl 
Or — she  broke  off  her  thought,  appalled  by 
the  terrible  alternative.  Then,  in  the  follow 
ing  instant,  she  found  herself  already  abreast 
of  the  saloon.  She  heard  her  companion's 
brisk  command: 

"Stop  here!" 

She  obeyed,  though,  almost,  the  dread  that 
beat  upon  her  forced  her  to  flee  on,  and  on — 
anywhere  away  from  the  horror  that  menaced. 
She  pulled  her  mare  to  a  standstill,  and  got 
down  from  the  saddle,  and  let  the  bridle-reins 
trail.  She  moved  as  one  in  a  dream — rather, 
as  one  in  a  nightmare.  Yet,  now  the  crisis 
was  upon  her,  she  did  not  suffer  quite  so 
cruelly.  Her  feeling  was  numbed,  somehow. 
It  was  with  a  certain  listlessness  in  her  voice 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     87 

that  she  addressed  Dan  McGrew,  as  he 
stepped  to  her  side. 

"Well?" 

"There's  no  need  to  go  inside,"  Dan  ex 
plained.  "We  can  see  enough,  I  fancy, 
through  the  window.  .  .  .  Come!" 

Lou  followed  obediently  whither  he  led. 
So  the  two  came  to  the  window,  with  the  dirty 
glass  and  its  tattered  shade  raised  high,  so  that 
whosoever  would  might  look  freely  on  the 
squalor  within.  Dan  stepped  forward  and 
peered  into  the  room  for  a  moment,  then 
turned  and  beckoned  to  Lou.  .  .  .  And  the 
wife  advanced,  as  he  bade  her,  and  looked 
over  his  shoulder. 

Lou's  eyes,  accustomed  to  the  full  glare  of 
the  noon-day  sun,  could  at  first  distinguish 
nothing  more  than  a  vague  litter  of  weaving 
shadows  within  the  murk  of  the  dingy  room. 
Very  soon,  however,  her  vision  adjusted  itself 
to  the  dim  interior,  so  that  she  began  to  see 
distinctly.  Even  in  this  moment  of  emotional 
stress,  Lou  was  conscious  of  her  repugnance 
at  the  spectacle  of  coarsely  flaunted  vice.  She 


88     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

noted  the  line  of  sodden  men  loafing  along  the 
bar,  the  few  others  grouped  about  the  tables 
with  the  bedizened  and  painted  women, 
whose  wanton  faces,  and  more  wanton  man 
ners,  proclaimed  their  unsavory  sort.  Yet, 
her  attention  was  thus  arrested  for  only  a 
fleeting  fraction  of  a  second.  Then  her  gaze 
fell  on  that  other  table  and  she  saw  her  hus 
band. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  as  to  Jim's  iden 
tity.  As  she  recognized  him,  Lou's  dark 
brown  eyes  dilated  before  the  fearfulness  of 
this  thing.  For  she  saw,  as  well,  every  detail 
of  his  visible  plight.  The  scene  was  etched 
on  her  consciousness  with  the  acid  of  horror, 
there  to  remain  indelible  throughout  the 
years.  She  knew,  in  the  first  second  of  seeing, 
every  feature  of  the  creature  within  whose 
arms  her  husband  was  lying.  She  knew  the 
cut  and  color  of  the  soiled  bodice,  with  its 
drapery  of  cheap  lace  over  the  bosom — on 
which  his  loved  face  reposed.  She  felt  a 
nausea.  There  was  nothing  lovable  now  in 
his  face.  Instead,  it  was  bestial,  repulsive — 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     89 

the  face  of  a  man  who  had  given  himself  over 
to  gratification  of  the  beast  within  him,  and 
who  was  wallowing  in  the  mire  of  his  degra 
dation.  ...  So  it  seemed  to  Lou  Maxwell, 
as  she  stood  staring,  bereft,  upon  that  scene 
which  to  her  meant  the  end  of  all  things. 
The  life  had  gone  out  of  her  face.  A  sick 
ness  as  of  death  clutched  at  her  heart.  Sud 
denly  her  gauntleted  hands  caught  Dan  Mc- 
Grew's  shoulder.  Only  his  quick  support 
saved  her  from  falling.  She  spoke  dully,  in 
a  broken  whisper: 
"Take  me  away." 


CHAPTER  VII 

LOU  was  able  to  climb  to  her  saddle  with 
Dan's  assistance,  though  she  moved  very 
feebly,  and  her  white,  drawn  face  was  that  of 
one  who  had  been  stricken  with  a  mortal  hurt. 
But  once  safely  mounted,  with  less  strain  on 
her  muscles,  a  little  strength  flowed  back  into 
her,  so  that  she  sat  steadily  enough  as  the  two 
started  back  at  a  walk  over  the  way  down 
which  they  had  ridden  so  furiously.  By  the 
time  the  town  was  left  well  behind,  the 
fresh  air  and  the  motion  had  restored  her  fac 
ulties  in  part,  both  physical  and  mental.  But 
with  the  clearing  of  her  brain  came  an  agony 
of  realization  almost  unendurable.  She 
urged  her  horse  to  its  full  speed,  fain  to  put 
all  distance  possible  between  her  and  the  de 
testable  scene  on  which  she  had  just  looked. 
Indeed,  the  instinct  of  flight  in  this  crisis  of 
her  fate  was  dominant.  Her  one  desire  was 

90 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     91 

to  flee  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  to  escape  for 
ever  from  all  that  had  been. 

Throughout  the  years  of  her  life  hitherto, 
Lou  had  experienced  no  real  anguish.  Her 
sorrows,  great  though  some  of  them  had 
seemed  to  her  as  child  and  woman,  had  been 
essentially  trivial,  over  trivial  things.  She 
had  never  known  the  ills  of  poverty.  The 
death  of  her  father  had  occurred  while  yet 
she,  the  only  child,  was  too  young  to  grieve 
deeply  or  long.  Her  mother's  death  had  oc 
curred  some  years  after  her  marriage,  when 
she  had  been  weaned  from  the  old  home-life. 
In  truth,  all  her  years  had  been  pleasant  ones. 
The  sum  of  her  happiness  had  been  far  be 
yond  that  of  most.  The  love  between  her  and 
her  husband  had  been  a  beautiful  one,  in 
which  she  had  found  supreme  content.  It 
had  been  crowned  by  the  birth  of  the  child. 
It  had  held  the  promise  of  serenely  joyous 
years  to  come.  .  .  .  And  now,  the  catastro 
phe!  Here  was  the  end  of  all  things.  Doubt 
of  her  husband's  loyalty  had  never  tainted  her 
devotion.  She  had  believed  utterly  in  his 


92     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

cleanness,  his  wholesome  manhood.  And 
now,  in  an  instant,  the  whole  fabric  of  her  life 
was  in  shreds,  beyond  any  possibility  of  re- 
weaving;  befouled  beyond  any  possibility  of 
purifying.  All  her  happiness  had  been  an 
illusion,  the  gracious  charm  of  it  only  a  mask 
that  covered  the  ugly  truth. 

Lou  had  never  a  doubt  concerning  that 
truth.  With  her  own  eyes,  she  had  witnessed 
it.  She  had  seen  Jim  in  drunken  debauch 
with  the  painted  woman,  who  had  boasted 
that  this  lover  came  always  at  her  call.  The 
wife  had  seen  her  husband  fondled  openly  by 
a  wanton  in  a  public  place,  had  seen  the  crea 
ture  holding  the  glass  to  that  husband's  lips. 
Dan  McGrew  had  plotted  well.  By  his  in 
trigue,  he  had  destroyed  absolutely  all  her 
faith  and  happiness. 

The  humiliation  of  the  revelation  sharp 
ened  the  torture.  It  would  not  have  been 
quite  so  terrible,  Lou  thought,  if  Jim  had 
loved  some  woman  of  a  decent  sort.  But  the 
loathesomeness  of  being  scorned  for  that  in 
famous  woman  of  the  dance-hall — !  The 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     93 

wife  writhed  under  the  ignominy:  that  a  be 
ing  so  sordid  should  have  ousted  her  from  her 
husband's  heart.  His  infatuation  for  one  so 
base  proved  his  entire  worthlessness.  He  was 
but  the  gross,  soiled  caricature  of  her  ideal. 
The  idol  of  gold  which  she  had  worshiped 
was  shown  to  be  of  clay — clay  filthy  and  cor 
rupt. 

Dan  McGrew  realized,  to  some  extent  at 
least,  the  anguish  of  the  woman  at  whose  side 
he  rode.  Had  it  been  consistent  with  his  pur 
poses,  he  would  have  spared  her  that  suffer 
ing.  In  his  way,  he  sympathized  with  her 
keenly.  Yet  the  fact  that  her  grief  was 
wholly  of  his  making,  had  no  cause  whatso 
ever  except  the  visible  lie  which  he  had  built 
for  her  eyes  to  see — the  fact  that  he  alone  had 
thrust  the  iron  into  her  soul  troubled  Danger 
ous  Dan  not  at  all.  He  had  no  remorse, 
though  he  pitied  her.  He  was  absolutely 
without  compunction  for  the  misery  he  had 
wrought  Dangerous  Dan  was  a  strong  man, 
save  for  his  vices.  He  was  a  hard  man  as 
well.  What  he  desired,  he  meant  to  take,  and 


94    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

he  was  ruthless  and  unscrupulous  as  to  the 
manner  of  his  taking.  More  than  anything 
else  in  the  world,  he  desired  to  possess  for  his 
own  Lou  Maxwell.  To  that  end,  he  had  con 
cocted  his  scheme  of  villainy.  The  woman's 
present  agony  was  a  necessary  part  in  the  suc 
cess  of  his  plotting.  So,  though  he  was  sorry 
for  her  whom  he  had  thus  fearfully  wronged, 
he  felt  no  vestige  of  regret — only  exultation. 
In  his  way,  Dan  McGrew  loved  Lou.  His 
love  for  her  was,  indeed,  the  chief  passion  of 
his  life.  But  his  love,  like  that  of  many  an 
other  man,  was  wholly  selfish.  She  was 
necessary  to  his  happiness.  That  he  must  de 
stroy  her  happiness  in  order  to  secure  his  was 
of  no  importance.  Moreover,  with  the  ego 
tism  of  a  strong  man,  he  was  confident  that  he 
would  be  able  in  the  days  to  come  to  make  her 
happier  than  she  had  ever  been  before. 

Now,  on  the  ride,  Dan  discreetly  kept 
silence.  He  could  follow  well  enough  the 
workings  of  the  woman's  mood,  and  he  be 
lieved  that  it  would  be  unwise  at  this  time  to 
attempt  the  direction  of  her  thoughts.  It 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     95 

seemed  to  him  certain  that  under  the  circum 
stances  she  must  inevitably  reach  the  conclu 
sion  he  desired.  There  might  be  danger  that 
a  suggestion  from  him  would  provoke  suspi 
cion,  though  this  possibility  was  remote,  after 
the  effectiveness  of  the  scene  on  which  she  had 
looked.  Nevertheless,  despite  his  confidence 
in  a  victorious  issue  of  the  affair,  Dan  was 
glad  when  Lou  went  forward  at  full  speed. 
He,  like  Fingie  Whalen,  knew  that  the  influ 
ence  of  the  drug  on  Jim  Maxwell  would  be 
only  of  a  temporary  sort,  and  that  soon  the 
ranch-owner  would  recover  consciousness. 
Just  how  long  an  interval  there  might  be  be 
fore  the  husband's  return  to  the  ranch,  Dan 
could  not  tell.  But,  because  he  was  in  a  fever 
of  impatience  for  a  rapid  development  of 
events,  he  rejoiced  over  the  haste  in  which 
they  rode,  and  welcomed  with  a  sigh  of  relief 
their  arrival  at  the  ranch. 

As  Lou  dismounted,  Nell  came  running 
from  the  porch  with  a  rapturous  cry  of  greet 
ing.  The  mother  dropped  to  her  knees,  and 
gathered  the  girl  into  her  arms,  with  passion- 


96    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

ate  kisses.  She  realized,  with  bitter  self- 
reproach,  that  in  all  this  time  of  trial  she  had 
had  not  a  single  thought  for  the  daughter 
whom  she  so  loved.  In  her  humiliation  as  a 
wife  she  had  forgotten  her  obligation  as  a 
mother.  Now,  abruptly,  the  shameful  sig 
nificance  to  the  daughter  of  what  had  befallen 
was  borne  in  upon  Lou's  consciousness. 

"He  is  unworthy  ever  to  look  on  her  face 
again."  She  was  unaware  that  in  the  inten 
sity  of  her  feeling  she  had  spoken  aloud  with 
'deliberate  emphasis. 

Nell,  already  somewhat  perplexed  by  the 
ardor  of  these  caresses,  became  even  a  little 
frightened  by  the  unfamiliar  expression  on 
her  mother's  face,  and  by  the  sternly  spoken 
words,  which  she  did  not  understand.  She 
was  relieved  when,  the  next  moment,  she  was 
released,  and  she  hurried  off  to  her  favorite 
nook  in  the  rose-garden,  where  she  might 
be  alone  to  puzzle  over  the  meaning  of  it 
all. 

Unlike  the  child,  Dan  McGrew  understood 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     97 

exactly  the  wife's  ejaculation,  and  he  knew 
that  he  had  achieved  his  end.  Without  invi 
tation,  but  quite  as  a  matter  of  course,  he 
walked  at  Lou's  side  as  she  ascended  the  steps 
and  entered  the  living-room.  She  accepted 
his  company  without  remonstrance,  indiffer 
ently.  It  was  only  after  she  had  sunk  down 
into  a  low  easy  chair,  where  she  lay  back 
wearily  with  closed  eyes,  while  she  drew  off 
her  gauntlets,  that  Dan  McGrew  finally  dared 
to  address  her  explicitly: 

"You  must  leave  him,  of  course,"  he  said 
gently.  His  voice  was  very  grave  and  kindly. 
It  came  with  something  of  a  shock  to  the 
woman's  ears — she  had  forgotten  him  so  com 
pletely  in  the  self-absorption  of  her  mood. 
But,  too,  there  was  something  soothing  to  her 
in  the  manner  of  his  utterance.  She  became 
aware  that  here  was  one  to  aid  her  in  the  ac 
complishment  of  things  to  be  done.  She  no 
longer  remembered  how,  within  the  hour,  she 
had  execrated  this  man  who  now  stood  before 
her.  She  had  become  oblivious  of  the  insult 


98     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

he  had  so  recently  put  upon  her.  The  reve 
lation  of  her  husband's  treachery  obsessed  her 
mind  to  the  exclusion  of  all  else.  So,  she  was 
fully  disposed  to  accept  the  assistance  of  Dan 
McGrew  in  this  emergency.  She  was  ready 
to  acquiesce  in  his  suggestions  for  her  guid 
ance  in  escaping  from  this  place  which  her 
husband  had  polluted.  She  sat  up  in  a  quick 
access  of  energy. 

"Yes,"  she  said  harshly,  "I  must  leave  him 
— at  once."  Her  animation  grew.  Her  face, 
which  had  been  pallid  a  moment  before,  was 
flushed  with  eagerness.  Her  expression  be 
came  resolute.  "I  must  take  Nell  away  from 
him.  I  don't  want  him  ever  to  set  eyes  on 
her  again — he's  not  fit." 

Dan  forbore  comment.  There  needed 
from  him  no  condemnation  of  the  husband. 
The  wife's  conviction  as  to  Jim's  guilt  was 
complete.  So  he  avoided  Lou's  reference  to 
her  husband's  culpability,  and  spoke  to  the 
point: 

"You  want  to  get  away  without  seeing  him 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     99 

again,"  he  remarked,  in  a  tone  of  positiveness, 
as  if  the  matter  admitted  of  no  doubt. 

"Yes,"  the  wife  answered.  "It  would  be 
too  horrible  to  see  him  again!  And  for 
Nell—" 

Dan  McGrew  nodded  sympathetically. 

"It  would  only  mean  a  nasty  row,"  he 
agreed.  "You  might  as  well  spare  yourself 
that — and  spare  the  child,  too,"  he  concluded, 
craftily.  For  he  realized  that  Lou  would  fly 
fast  and  far  for  the  child's  sake,  if  not  for  her 
own.  He  detested  the  necessity  of  the  child's 
presence  in  their  flight,  but  he  recognized  the 
fact  that  it  was  a  necessity,  and  therefore  to  be 
endured — even,  as  far  as  possible,  to  be  turned 
to  advantage. 

"Yes,"  Lou  continued,  "we  must  hurry  as 
fast  as  we  can,  for  I  suppose  there's  no  telling 
when  Jim  might  return.  And  it  would  be 
dreadful  to  run  into  him  in  the  town,  on  the 
way  to  the  train." 

Dan  McGrew  nodded  assent. 

"It  would,  indeed!"  he  declared.     "In  the 


ioo    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

condition  he's  in  now  there's  no  telling  what 
he  might  do." 

Lou  shuddered  at  the  memory  of  her  hus 
band's  sodden  face,  as  she  had  seen  it  resting  on 
the  breast  of  the  woman  in  Murphy's  saloon. 

"We  must  not  meet  him!"  she  declared  des 
perately.  "It  would  be  too  terrible  to  have 
him  see  Nell."  She  pressed  her  hands  to  her 
bosom  as  if  to  hold  back  the  emotion  that 
surged  within  her.  "More  dreadful  for  Nell 
to  see  him.  I  want  her  to  have  a  clean  mem 
ory  of  her  father,  whatever  he  is." 

"We  can  avoid  any  danger  of  meeting  him," 
Dan  McGrew  asserted,  with  a  brisk  tone  of 
confidence  that  reassured  his  listener.  "We'll 
just  ride  across  country  to  the  main  line.  Do 
you  know  the  road?  I  have  only  a  general 
idea." 

Lou  was  all  eagerness  over  the  suggestion. 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  exclaimed  excitedly;  "that 
is  the  way  to  do  it.  i  know  the  road.  We 
must  get  ready  and  start  at  once.  But  you 
don't  need  to  go  with  us." 

Dan  McGrew  spoke  decisively: 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     101 

"I've  got  you  into  this  mess,  Lou,  and  it's 
up  to  me  to  see  the  thing  through.  I  want  to 
help  you  in  any  way  I  can — and  just  now  you 
need  help."  His  tone  was  firm,  yet  tender, 
with  a  note  of  devotion  in  it  that  touched  the 
distraught  woman.  She  sprang  to  her  feet 
and  held  out  both  her  hands,  which  were 
seized  in  a  warm  clasp. 

"Thank  you,  Dan,"  she  said  gently.  "God 
knows  I  need  help." 

Then,  forthwith,  she  became  all  animation. 
She  summoned  her  maid,  and  ordered  that 
two  small  bags  which  could  be  carried  on 
horseback  should  be  packed  with  necessaries 
for  herself  and  Nell.  At  Dan's  suggestion, 
she  sent  an  order  to  the  stables  for  Nell's  pony 
and  two  fresh  mounts  to  serve  for  Dan  and 
herself.  These  things  done,  it  occurred  to  her 
that  she  must  leave  some  explanation  of  her 
departure  for  her  husband  on  his  return. 
She  seated  herself  at  his  desk,  and  wrote  hur 
riedly  and  briefly,  in  distaste  for  even  this 
indirect  contact  with  the  man  who  had 
wronged  her. 


102     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

Dear  Jim: 

I  know  all.  I  do  not  want  to  be  in  your 
path,  so  am  going  away.  You  love  another, 
so  will  perhaps  not  miss  me. 

Good-by,  Jim. 

I  forgive  you. 

LOU. 

Lou,  when  she  had  set  her  name  to  the  short 
form  of  words,  thrust  the  sheet  into  an  enve 
lope,  which  she  addressed  with  the  single 
word,  "Jim."  For  long  seconds  she  sat  star 
ing  at  the  lines  she  had  last  traced — that  name 
which  had  been  through  so  many  years  the 
symbol  of  her  happiness,  which  was  now  be 
come  the  symbol  of  vileness  and  misery.  The 
horror  of  it  smote  her  anew,  essenced  in  that 
name  which  had  been  her  blessing,  which  was 
now  become  her  curse. 

The  sound  of  the  hoofs  stamping  on  the 
gravel  before  the  door  aroused  her.  The 
maid  came  to  announce  that  the  horses  were  in 
readiness,  with  the  bags  strapped  to  the  sad 
dles.  With  the  maid  came  Nell,  who  had 
needed  no  preparation,  since  she  was  already 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     103 

in  her  riding  clothes.  Lou  took  the  girl  in 
her  arms  and  kissed  the  exquisite  dark  face 
with  a  tenderness  that  was  like  a  benediction. 
.  .  .  She  had  no  least  hint  that  this  was  des 
tined  to  be  the  last  time  her  lips  should  touch 
the  soft  roundness  of  the  girlish  cheek. 

"You  are  to  ride  with  me  this  afternoon, 
Nell,"  she  said.  "Don't  ask  any  questions 
now.  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  by-and-by. 
It's  a  surprise."  She  shivered  over  the  words. 
A  surprise — yes,  a  surprise  that  meant  the  end 
of  all  things.  So,  presently,  the  three  went 
forth  from  the  living-room,  and  across  the 
porch,  and  down  the  steps,  and  got  into  the 
saddles  of  the  waiting  horses.  Without  any 
exchange  of  words  among  them,  they  rode 
away.  None  of  the  three  looked  back — Nell, 
because  she  had  no  guess  as  to  the  sinister 
meaning  of  this  parting;  Dan,  because  even 
his  calloused  soul  felt  a  twinge  of  shame  over 
the  ruins  that  he  left  behind;  Lou,  because  she 
could  not. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IT  was  not  until  late  afternoon  that  Jim 
slowly  struggled  back  to  consciousness. 
He  was  first  aware  of  a  deadly  nausea,  which 
seemed  billowing  through  every  atom  of  his 
being.  Then  he  felt  the  torture  that  stabbed 
through  his  brain.  In  an  effort  of  revolt,  he 
raised  his  head,  though  the  movement  tried 
his  strength  to  the  utmost.  His  eyes  swept 
dimly  over  the  scene,  and  a  dull  wonder  filled 
him.  Just  at  first,  he  did  not  recognize  the 
place.  Very  quickly,  however,  the  acrid 
odors  of  spilled  liquors  and  the  reek  of  cheap 
perfumes  from  the  women  quickened  memory. 
Suddenly  his  eyes  opened  wide,  and  he  saw 
clearly,  with  new  consciousness  of  his  sur 
roundings — and  of  himself.  He  realized  that 
in  some  mysterious  fashion,  altogether  inex 
plicable  to  him,  he  had  been  overcome  in  the 

104 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     105 

back  room  of  Murphy's  saloon.  His  mind 
went  to  the  period  immediately  preceding  the 
blank  in  memory.  He  remembered  his  pres 
ence  there  along  with  the  woman,  Jess,  and 
the  gambler,  and  his  taking  a  drink  with  them. 
Of  whatever  had  followed,  he  had  no  knowl 
edge.  Evidently,  he  had  suffered  a  seizure 
of  some  sort.  As  his  faculties  were  restored, 
it  occurred  to  him  that  he  might  have  been 
drugged  by  the  gambler  or  the  woman,  for 
the  purpose  of  robbery.  But  a  hasty  exami 
nation  showed  that  his  watch  and  money  were 
untouched.  Besides,  it  seemed  to  him,  on 
second  thought,  preposterous  that  either  of  the 
two  should  have  dared  anything  of  the  kind 
against  him.  No,  it  was  certain  that  he  had 
been  attacked  thus  without  warning  by  some 
unexpected  physical  ailment.  He  was  rather 
alarmed  by  the  experience,  as  strong  men 
usually  are  when  unaccustomed  weakness  as 
sails  them.  He  determined  to  submit  himself 
to  a  careful  examination  at  the  hands  of  a 
competent  physician,  on  his  first  visit  to  the 
county-seat 


106    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

The  nausea  had  subsided  in  some  measure, 
and  the  pain  in  his  head,  too,  had  lessened. 
But  he  felt  mouth  and  throat  parched.  He 
got  up,  moving  with  difficulty,  and,  after  a 
few  moments  of  unsteadiness  while  he  held  to 
the  back  of  a  chair  for  support,  he  was  able  to 
stand  firmly  enough  and  to  walk  forward 
to  the  bar. 

"Give  me  a  glass  of  water,"  he  said  to  the 
bar-keeper. 

The  fellow  obeyed  with  alacrity,  for  he 
knew  Jim  Maxwell  to  be  a  man  of  importance 
in  the  community,  and  he  had  been  puzzled 
by  the  events  of  the  day — even  a  little  fright 
ened  lest  trouble  come  of  them.  Jim  gulped 
the  water  and  demanded  more.  He  drank  a 
number  of  glasses  before  his  thirst  was  even 
partially  quenched.  The  effect  was  speedy. 
He  felt  strength  returning  to  him.  His  brain 
was  quite  clear  again. 

The  bar-tender,  watching  narrowly,  saw 
that  the  ranch-owner  was  himself  once  more. 
He  ventured  to  speak  ingratiatingly,  in  the 
hope  of  satisfying  his  curiosity. 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     107 

"That  was  quite  some  snoozle,  Mister,"  he 
remarked,  with  a  smirk. 

"It  was  nothing  of  the  sort,"  Jim  snapped. 
"I  don't  know  what  it  was.  But  it  was  bad 
enough." 

"I  thought  mebbe  as  how  you'd  had  a  drop 
too  much,"  the  bar-keeper  explained,  "an' 
was  jest  nacherly  sleepin'  it  off.  If  we'd 
knowed  you  was  sick,  we'd  have  got  the  Doc 
in  to  give  you  a  look-over." 

"That's  all  right,"  Jim  answered.  "I'm  not 
blaming  you  any — unless  it  was  the  drink  you 
gave  me  that  poisoned  me." 

Presently  Jim  went  out  into  the  street.  He 
found  his  horse  tied  to  a  ring  at  the  corner  of 
the  saloon  building.  He  unhitched  it, 
mounted,  and  rode  slowly  homeward.  He 
was  still  in  distress  physically,  but  his  condi 
tion  was  improving  from  moment  to  moment, 
so  that  he  no  longer  felt  apprehension  as  to  the 
outcome.  Soon,  indeed,  he  became  suffi 
ciently  sure  of  himself  to  put  his  horse  to  a 
trot  ...  As  the  shadows  of  evening  drew 
down,  he  rode  up  to  the  door  of  his  home. 


io8     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

There  was  a  bank  of  lurid  clouds  in  the 
west,  massed  heavily  on  the  horizon.  The  air 
was  motionless,  weighted  with  portents  of 
coming  storm.  Jim  felt  the  oppressiveness, 
and  in  a  subtle  way  it  rested  upon  his  mood 
as  something  sinister.  A  weight  of  melan 
choly  pressed  upon  him  as  he  entered  the 
house.  The  stillness  of  the  air  seemed  ree'n- 
forced  in  the  quiet  of  the  living-room  into 
which  he  stepped.  There  was  no  sound.  He 
listened  for  his  wife's  greeting.  It  did  not 
come.  He  listened  for  the  pattering  steps  of 
Nell,  running  to  welcome  him.  He  did  not 
hear  them.  The  silence  hurt  him  in  some 
curious  way.  He  had  an  overwhelming  sense 
of  the  absence  of  those  he  loved — the  absence 
of  wife  and  child. 

He  crossed  the  room  to  his  desk.  He 
slipped  the  loop  of  the  quirt  from  his  wrist 
and  let  it  fall  on  the  desk.  The  effect  of  the 
drug  was  not  yet  assuaged ;  he  was  very  thirsty. 
He  called  to  the  maid  passing  through  the 
hall: 

"Bring  me  a  glass  of  water,  Mary." 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     109 

The  girl  came  quickly  with  the  drink.  She 
and  the  other  servants  were  in  a  ferment  of 
curiosity,  full  of  suspicions  and  wonderings. 
There  had  been  much  gossip  in  the  house  over 
the  fight  between  the  two  men  the  day  before, 
which  had  not  passed  unobserved.  To-day, 
the  wife  had  suddenly  left  her  home  with  the 
man  who  had  been  ordered  out  of  the  house. 
Over  this  fact,  scandalous  tongues  were  clack 
ing  loudly.  Mary  had  made  it  her  business 
to  be  passing  in  the  hall,  in  order  that  she 
might  note  the  attitude  of  the  master  at  such 
a  time.  So  she  stood,  in  eager  expectation, 
eying  her  master  closely,  as  he  took  the  glass 
of  water. 

But  he  set  the  glass  back  on  the  tray  sud 
denly,  for  he  saw  an  envelope  lying  on  the 
desk,  addressed  in  the  handwriting  of  the 
woman  he  loved : 

"Jim." 

A  foreboding  of  disaster  crashed  upon  him. 
He  trembled,  standing  there  with  the  envel 
ope  unopened  in  his  hand.  Then  he  strove 
to  throw  off  this  craven  dread — for  which 


no    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

there  was  no  reason.     He  turned  to  the  maid. 

"Where  is  your  mistress?"  he  asked,  quietly. 

It  was  the  question  for  which  Mary,  and 
the  whole  household,  had  been  waiting. 

"Why,  sir,"  she  answered  falteringly,  dis 
mayed  now  that  the  matter  was  coming  to  a 
crisis,  "she  has  gone  out — with  Miss  Nell,  sir 
— and  with  Mr.  McGrew." 

McGrew!  The  name  roared  in  Jim's 
brain.  The  man  who  had  insulted  his  wife, 
whom  he  had  beaten  and  driven  from  his 
home  like  a  whipped  cur.  .  .  .  And  Lou  and 
Nell  had  gone  with  Dan  McGrew.  He  felt 
a  sickness,  inexpressibly  more  horrible  than 
the  physical  nausea  that  had  sickened  him 
there  in  Murphy's  saloon.  That  Lou  should 
have  gone  with  Dan  McGrew — and  Nell! 
The  thing  was  incredible! 

His  eyes  searched  the  room,  as  if  looking 
for  wife  or  child,  or  for  some  clew  to  explain 
the  mystery.  They  fell  on  the  envelope, 
which  he  still  held  in  his  hand.  He  tore  it 
open  in  a  frenzy  of  eagerness. 

He  read  confusedly.     But,   somehow,   the 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     in 

essential  meaning  beat  upon  his  brain.  He 
grasped  the  fact  that  the  woman  he  loved  had 
gone  from  him.  It  was  all  a  monstrous  lie, 
of  course.  Yet,  there  was  the  horrid  truth- 
she  had  gone  away.  Lou  and  Nell — the  two 
things  in  the  world — had  gone  away.  He 
could  not  understand.  But  they  had  gone. 

"Good-by,  Jim!" 

She  had  written  that,  and  she  had  signed  it 
"Lou."  There  was  confusion  in  his  thoughts. 
He  could  not  guess  the  meaning  that  lay  back 
of  what  his  wife  had  written.  He  only  knew 
that  there  was  some  monstrous  lie. 

The  maid's  voice  came  softly.  The  girl 
was  appalled  at  the  expression  on  the  man's 
face  as  he  stood  staring  down  at  the  sheet  of 
paper  in  his  hands.  It  was  from  a  desire  to 
bring  things  back  to  the  ordinary  that  she 
spoke  apologetically: 

"Your  glass  of  water,  sir." 

The  words  made  a  mechanical  impres 
sion  on  Jim  Maxwell's  consciousness.  He 
stretched  out  his  left  arm,  and  his  hand,  from 
which  he  had  not  yet  pulled  off  the  riding- 


ii2     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

gauntlet,  closed  over  the  glass  on  the  tray. 
He  raised  it  toward  his  lips.  His  eyes  fell  on 
the  note  once  more. 

"You  love  another,  so  will  perhaps  not  miss 
me." 

The  incredible  words  were  there  before 
him.  And  she  had  gone — she  and  Nell.  .  .  . 
With  Dan  McGrew!  The  thing  was  impos 
sible.  There  was  no  truth  anywhere.  He 
stared  down  at  the  letter,  aghast  at  the  horri 
ble  conundrum  propounded  to  him  by  fate. 
Lou  had  gone — with  Dan  McGrew!  .  .  . 
Why? 

His  eyes  held  to  the  note. 

" — so  I  am  going  away." 

The  words  beat  a  refrain  of  dreadfulness  in 
his  brain.  » 

" — so  I  am  going  away." 

His  hand,  holding  the  glass  of  water, 
clenched  fiercely  in  the  reflex  of  emotion. 
The  glass  was  shivered,  and  the  fragments 
were  multiplied  as  his  passion  still  sought  ex 
pression  in  the  violence  of  that  clutch. 

Jim  turned  to  the  maid,  who  had  watched 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW  113 

his  unconscious  splintering  of  the  glass  with 
distended  eyes. 

"When  did  they  go?"  he  asked. 

Mary  answered  hurriedly,  disconcerted  by 
the  obvious  distress  of  her  master. 

"It  was  some  hours  ago,  sir.  They  went 
sort  of  unexpected-like,  as  it  seemed  to  me, 


sir." 


Jim  reasoned  swiftly.  Somehow,  he  sensed 
a  frightful  fraud  underlying  this  mystery. 
But  he  knew  the  need  of  haste.  By  some 
malevolent  chance,  his  wife  had  been  led  into 
this  error  of  understanding — out  of  which  she 
had  written : 

"I  do  not  want  to  be  in  your  path,  so  am 
going  away." 

Jim  turned  to  the  girl,  who  was  still  hover 
ing  doubtfully  in  the  doorway. 

"There's  been  a  mistake  somewhere,  I 
guess."  His  voice  was  quiet,  but  in  it 
throbbed  a  heart-beat  of  deepest  feeling. 
"Tell  the  foreman,  I  want  the  boys  to  ride  with 
me  to-night." 


CHAPTER  IX 

AS  the  cavalcade  passed  from  the  drive 
way  into  the  high  road,  which  ran  east 
and  west,  Dan  McGrew  spoke  quickly. 

"We'll  ride  toward  the  town." 

Lou  turned  her  horse  obediently,  accord 
ing  to  his  direction. 

"But  why?"  she  demanded,  wonderingly. 
"We  might  meet — him." 

"That's  a  risk  we  must  run,"  was  the  de 
cisive  answer.  "When  we  are  well  out  of 
sight  of  the  house,  we'll  cut  around  through 
the  fields,  and  get  back  into  the  road  below. 
So,  if  they  come  after  us,  they'll  start  the  pur 
suit  in  the  wrong  way." 

In  this  fashion,  the  matter  was  carried  out. 
Half  an  hour  later,  the  three  were  back  on 
the  high-road,  riding  in  the  direction  opposite 
to  that  in  which  they  had  started.  They  went 

forward  rapidly  through  the  hot  hours  of  the 

114 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     11$ 

afternoon,  but  not  too  rapidly,  in  order  that 
the  horses  might  hold  out  for  the  long  journey. 
Nell,  from  time  to  time,  would  have  ques 
tioned  her  mother  over  this  strange  outing. 
She  became  a  little  petulant,  fretful  from 
balked  curiosity.  But  the  mother  was  not 
minded  to  explain  as  yet.  It  required  all  her 
powers  of  self-control  to  maintain  a  fair  de 
gree  of  composure  in  this  time  of  trial.  She 
knew  that  any  attempt  to  make  plausible  ex 
planations  to  the  girl  would  overtax  her 
strength,  and  cause  collapse. 

Night  drew  down  on  the  travelers.  With 
its  coming,  the  storm,  which  had  been  threat 
ening  in  the  sultry  air,  broke  furiously. 
Within  the  minute,  the  three  were  drenched. 
Dan  was  disturbed  by  the  discomfort  thus  in 
flicted  on  mother  and  child,  as  well  as  himself, 
but  pressed  on  stubbornly,  since  no  relief  was 
possible.  Presently,  however,  as  he  asked  a 
question  concerning  roads  and  distances,  Lou 
had  an  inspiration: 

"We  can  cut  off  eight  or  ten  miles  by  not 
going  through  Salisbury,  to  which  this  road 


n6     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

runs.  We  can  ford  the  river,  and  beyond  it's 
open  range  to  Hoytsville.  Then  we'll  strike 
the  high-road  again." 

Dan  questioned  her  closely,  and  was  con 
vinced  by  her  replies. 

"I've  ridden  it  often  with — with  Jim,"  she 
said.  There  was  a  catch  in  her  throat  at  ut 
terance  of  the  name.  "I  think  it  would  be 
quite  safe,  even  in  the  dark." 

Dan  agreed  as  to  the  advisability  of  her 
plan.  Presently,  then,  the  three  turned  out  of 
the  road,  and  moved  toward  the  river,  which, 
Lou  explained,  ran  through  a  little  valley  just 
beyond.  The  rain  had  ceased  as  suddenly  as 
it  had  begun.  The  passing  of  the  storm  had 
cleared  the  air.  The  oppressive  heat  of  the 
afternoon  and  evening  was  gone.  Now,  a 
chill  breeze  was  blowing.  It  pierced  the 
drenched  garments  of  the  three,  so  that  they 
shivered  with  cold.  Lou  became  alarmed  lest 
Nell  should  suffer  some  ill  consequence  from 
this  exposure.  As  they  descended  the  slope 
that  ran  down  to  the  river-bank,  she  spoke  sud 
denly. 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     117 

"Let's  stop  here  for  a  little  rest,"  she  sug 
gested;  and  her  voice  was  so  anxious  that  Dan 
hardly  dared  refuse.  For  that  matter,  he  had 
had  something  of  the  sort  in  his  own  mind. 

"It's  imprudent,"  he  answered;  "but,  if  we 
must,  why,  we  must,  I  suppose." 

"I  don't  think  it's  really  imprudent,"  Lou 
maintained.  "There  are  trees  and  bushes 
along  the  river-bank  to  hide  us  and  the  horses. 
Anyhow,  we're  out  of  sight  from  the  road. 
Could  you  build  a  fire?" 

"If  I  can  find  any  wood  dry  enough  to 
burn,"  was  the  rather  doubtful  response. 

They  halted  on  the  edge  of  a  grove,  which 
grew  close  to  the  river.  Dan  led  the  horses 
within  the  concealment  of  the  trees,  and  tied 
them  as  best  he  could  with  his  chilled  fingers. 
He  had  difficulty  in  finding  dry  leaves  and 
branches  for  the  fire,  but,  in  the  end,  suc 
ceeded  in  making  a  blaze.  Soon,  the  three 
were  grouped  close  around  the  flame,  grateful 
for  the  heat,  which  relaxed  their  stiffened 
muscles,  and  sent  up  steaming  vapors  from 
their  wet  garments.  After  a  little,  Dan  left 


n8     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGRE\^ 

the  fire  for  a  look  at  the  river,  which  was  t( 
be  forded  at  this  point.  He  could  see  onb 
very  indistinctly,  for  scudding  masses  of  blad 
cloud  hid  moon  and  stars.  As  nearly  as  h< 
could  make  out,  the  river  was  about  fifty  yard 
in  width,  its  surface  almost  flush  with  the  banl 
on  which  he  stood.  In  the  darkness  of  th< 
night,  the  vaguely  seen  stream  appeared  some 
how  disquieting,  as  if  in  treacherous  waiting 
Dan  McGrew,  looking  on  it,  felt  a  shiver  tha 
was  not  from  the  cold.  He  turned  away,  wit! 
an  impatient  curse  for  his  moment  of  weak 
ness.  Lou  had  said  that  the  utmost  depth  o 
water  in  this  shallow  creek  would  not  read 
to  the  stirrups.  Yet,  despite  self-contemp 
over  his  feelings,  Dan  experienced  a  depres 
sion  of  spirit  for  which  he  could  in  no  wise  ac 
count,  as  he  returned  to  the  fire. 

It  was  perhaps  an  hour  after  their  arriva 
in  the  grove  that  the  man's  alert  ears  caugh 
a  thudding  of  hoofs  upon  the  high-road  fron 
which  they  had  turned  aside.  He  listened 
and  made  sure  that  the  riders — for  there  wen 
several — were  following  the  road  toward  Sal 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     119 

isbury  and  Hoytsville,  at  full  speed.  Had 
they  been  going  in  the  opposite  direction,  they 
could  have  been  disregarded.  But,  under  the 
circumstances,  their  presence  seemed  a  sure  in 
dication  that  pursuit  in  the  right  direction  had 
been  begun.  To  escape  them,  it  would  be 
necessary  to  press  forward  with  all  haste,  tak 
ing  advantage  of  Lou's  plan  for  a  shorter  dis 
tance. 

Even  while  his  thoughts  were  formulating 
this  decision,  Dan  had  taken  prompt  measures 
of  precaution  against  discovery.  He  had  scat 
tered  the  glowing  embers  with  thrusts  of  his 
feet,  and  had  stamped  upon  them,  until  they 
were  completely  extinguished. 

"We  must  ride  instantly,"  he  said,  in  an 
authoritative  voice  to  Lou,  who  acquiesced  at 
once.  For  she,  too,  had  heard  the  galloping 
through  the  night  and  had  guessed  its  mean 
ing. 

Dan  hurried  to  unfasten  and  lead  out  the 
horses.  When  he  was  come  to  the  place 
where  he  had  tied  them,  he  could  distinguish 
in  the  faint  light  only  the  two  larger  mounts. 


120    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

Instantly,  the  apprehension  that  had  been  so 
formless  crystallized  in  definite  fear  of  a  pos 
sibility,  which,  in  the  following  moment,  was 
proven  fact.  Dan  cursed  again  over  the 
clumsiness  of  his  cold-stiffened  fingers,  which 
had  caused  such  a  mishap.  More  than  ever, 
now,  he  detested  the  presence  of  the  child  with 
him  and  Lou,  for  it  was  likely  to  prove  a  seri 
ous  encumbrance  in  their  further  flight.  He 
called  softly,  but  there  came  no  nicker  of  re 
sponse  from  the  pony.  He  explained  to  Lou 
and  Nell  what  had  happened,  and,  at  his  re 
quest,  the  girl  called,  in  hope  that  her  pet 
would  hear  the  summons  and  obey  her  voice, 
if  not  another's.  But,  again,  there  was  no  re 
sponse.  A  search,  Dan  knew,  would  be  use 
less,  since  the  escaped  pony  might  be  already 
miles  distant,  on  its  way  to  the  ranch. 

"I'll  take  Nell  on  behind  me,"  Dan  an 
nounced  roughly.  "It's  the  only  way." 

Within  a  minute,  Lou  and  Dan  were 
mounted.  Then,  Dan  bent  over,  and  swung 
the  girl  up  to  a  seat  behind  him. 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     121 

"Hold  on  tight,"  he  commanded. 

The  girl  obeyed  passively.  What  with  the 
cold  and  the  soaking  and  the  loss  of  her  pony, 
and  this  dreadful  river  which  they  were  about 
to  enter,  and  the  strangeness  of  everything,  the 
child  was  frightened  and  miserable.  She  was 
sobbing  very  softly,  and  the  sound  irritated 
Dan  McGrew. 

"You  lead,  Lou,"  he  ordered,  "since  you 
know  the  way.  You  can  see  well  enough?" 
he  asked  anxiously.  "You're  sure  that  you 
know  the  way?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  confident  reply.  "But  the 
water  is  higher  than  I've  ever  seen  it.  Why, 
it's  up  level  with  the  bank,  almost." 

"Is  it  safe,  then?"  Dan  demanded. 

"We  must  risk  it,  anyhow,"  Lou  returned. 
"If  we  go  by  the  road  now,  they'll  be  waiting 
for  us  ahead." 

"If  the  creek's  as  shallow  as  you  said,  I 
guess  we  can  manage  it,  all  right,"  was  the 
man's  decision.  "There  must  have  been  a 
cloud-burst  somewhere  in  the  mountains 


122     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

where  the  stream  rises.  We  got  the  tail  end  of 
the  storm — and  that  was  a  plenty!"  he  added 
savagely.  "Let's  be  off." 

Lou  led  the  way  as  he  had  bidden  her.  She 
rode  a  furlong  down  the  bank  of  the  stream, 
to  a  point  beyond  the  grove  where  she  and  her 
husband  had  entered  the  water  for  the  cross 
ing.  As  the  horse  stepped  reluctantly  down 
the  shelving  bank  into  the  current,  a  qualm  of 
dismay  stirred  in  the  woman.  She  could  not 
doubt  that  the  rush  of  the  water  as  it  came 
swirling  about  the  horse's  legs  was  much  more 
violent  than  it  had  been  on  those  other  occa 
sions  when  she  had  ridden  through  it.  And, 
too,  there  was  something  strangely  dispiriting 
in  the  combined  effects  of  the  black  tide  and 
the  ominous  gloom  of  the  night  beneath  a 
heaven  hidden  by  the  masses  of  scurrying 
clouds.  She  looked  back,  as  her  horse  ad 
vanced  with  laggard  pace  into  the  deepening 
water.  She  craved  the  comfort  of  compan 
ionship  in  this  horrible  time  and  place.  Her 
eyes  could  make  out  only  a  silhouette  that 
moved  a  little  way  behind  her.  She  could  not 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     123 

perceive  any  detail  there  in  the  darkness.  But 
she  knew  that  Dan  McGrew  rode  close  at 
hand,  and  with  him,  though  invisible,  rode  her 
daughter,  Nell — the  one  thing  dear  left  to  her 
in  all  the  world.  So,  she  went  forward 
bravely  enough,  though  her  mood  was  as  black 
as  the  blackness  of  the  night  that  hung  upon 
her  in  a  smothering  pall  of  weariness. 

The  water  deepened  and  flowed  with  more 
fierceness.  It  reached  to  the  horse's  belly. 
The  steed  snorted  in  affright.  Then,  it  lost 
its  footing,  and  sank  until  only  its  head,  with 
the  nostrils  lifted  high,  was  clear  of  the  water. 
Lou  cried  out  at  the  shock,  as  she  found  her 
self  immersed  in  the  coil  of  waters.  But,  even 
as  she  screamed,  she  threw  herself  out  of  the 
saddle,  to  relieve  the  mare  of  her  weight,  and 
swam,  holding  to  the  pommel  of  the  saddle. 
Her  horse  fought  its  way  forward,  breasting 
the  flood  valiantly.  At  an  oblique  angle  to 
the  force  of  the  current,  the  woman  and  her 
steed  won  slowly  to  the  shore.  .  .  .  Her  own 
cry  and  the  splash  of  her  body,  as  she  threw 
herself  from  the  saddle,  had  shut  from  the 


i24    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

mother's  ears  another  shriek  that  had  broken 
the  silence  of  the  night. 

Dan's  mount,  troubled  by  its  increased  bur 
den,  was  more  reluctant  even  than  Lou's  had 
been  to  advance  through  the  lashing  currents 
of  the  swollen  river.  It  had  held  back,  in 
spite  of  Dan's  urging,  so  that  it  was  at  some 
distance  in  the  rear,  when,  at  last,  it  slipped, 
and  scrambled  wildly  to  regain  its  footing — 
only  to  fail  and  plunge  beneath  the  surface, 
borne  down  by  the  weight  it  carried.  It  was 
in  the  second  before  the  two  riders  were  finally 
submerged  that  Nell  voiced  her  terror  in  a 
shrill  cry.  The  noise  of  it  rang  in  Dan's  ears, 
confusing  him.  But  it  was  strangled  in  the 
second  of  its  birth  by  the  enveloping  waters. 
As  he  struggled  out  of  the  saddle,  holding  his 
breath,  Dan  became  aware  that  the  girl  was 
no  longer  on  the  horse.  She  was  not  cling 
ing  to  him.  She  had  gone  from  him  out  into 
the  mystery  of  the  black  night  and  the  hungry 
river.  He  realized  that  her  cry  had  been  that 
of  despair,  as  the  force  of  the  current  wrested 
the  child  from  her  hold  on  horse  and  man. 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     125 

Dan's  head  came  above  the  surface,  and  he 
floated  easily  enough,  supported  by  a  hand  on 
the  swimming  horse.  Even  his  iron  nerves 
were  shaken  by  the  calamity.  There  was  no 
further  sound  out  of  the  stillness  of  the  night, 
save  the  rippling  murmur  of  the  water  as  the 
horse  swam  onward.  Dan  was  aware  that  he 
could  do  nothing  toward  the  girl's  rescue. 
Already,  the  hurrying  current  must  have 
carried  her  far  beyond  his  reach.  It  seemed 
clear  enough  that  Nell  must  have  lost  con 
sciousness  at  once  after  being  swept  down  into 
the  element.  Otherwise,  she  must  have  cried 
out  again — and  there  had  come  no  second  cry. 
Strong  man  as  he  was,  Dan  McGrew  felt  him 
self  helpless  in  the  grasp  of  circumstance. 
There  was  nothing  that  he  could  do  to  avert 
or  to  mitigate  the  tragedy.  He  could  only  go 
forward  helplessly,  leaving  the  unfortunate 
girl  to  her  fate.  The  suddenness,  as  well  as 
the  dreadfulness  of  the  catastrophe,  sickened 
him.  Later  on,  he  might  rejoice  over  this 
summary  removal  of  one  who  must  have 
proved  an  obstacle  in  his  path.  But,  just  now, 


126     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

his  emotion  was  of  dismay — a  dismay  strange 
to  his  experience.  Beyond  the  natural  hor 
ror  aroused  in  him  by  the  accident,  Dan 
McGrew  found  himself  almost  in  despair  over 
what  must  come  to  pass  when  the  mother 
should  learn  of  her  daughter's  death.  He 
knew  well  that  Nell  was  the  one  treasure  that 
remained  in  the  mother's  heart.  The  loss  of 
this  last  possession  would  rend  her  being  to 
its  depths,  and  leave  her  utterly  desolate.  The 
first  effect  from  knowledge  of  the  tragedy 
would  be  that  the  mother  would  not  go  a  step 
further,  until  after  the  river  had  been 
searched  ,  and  her  daughter's  body  recovered. 
Such  a  delay  would  be  fatal  to  the  plotter's 
every  hope.  ...  At  once,  Dan  McGrew  for 
got  his  horror,  his  despair.  He  began  again 
his  plotting — to  the  end  that  the  mother  should 
not  learn  the  truth  too  soon. 

When,  finally,  his  horse  gained  a  footing, 
near  the  other  bank  of  the  river,  Dan  Mc 
Grew  had  matured  a  plan  to  suffice  for  the 
moment.  Beyond  that,  he  could  not  see  his 
way.  The  future  lay  in  the  lap  of  the  gods. 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     127 

On  dry  land  again,  Dan  reined  in  the  horse, 
which  welcomed  the  respite  gladly  after  its 
battling  with  the  river.  He  listened,  and  soon 
heard  Lou  calling  his  name.  From  the  sound 
of  her  voice,  he  knew  that  she  was  at  some  dis 
tance  from  him,  further  up  the  stream.  He 
sent  a  cheery  shout  in  answer  to  her  hail. 
Then,  he  rode  forward  slowly  and  cautiously 
through  the  darkness,  which  was  so  deep  that 
he  could  hardly  see  to  pick  a  way  among  the 
bushes  and  trees  that  lined  the  bank  of  the 
creek.  And  Dan  McGrew  blessed  fate  for 
that  darkness.  Lou's  voice  came  again,  near 
at  hand.  Now,  Dan  could  perceive  the  vague 
outline  of  'her  form  against  the  background 
of  the  sky,  as  she  sat  her  horse  on  the  crest  of 
the  little  knoll  that  rose  from  the  river's 
brim. 

"We're  all  right,"  he  cried,  and  his  voice 
was  full  of  content.  "But  I  don't  think  much 
of  your  easy  ford,  Lou.  It  was  a  nasty  cross 
ing."  Then  his  voice  rang  sharply,  imperi 
ously:  "But  we  must  hurry  on,  if  we  are  to 
gain  anything  for  all  our  trouble." 


128     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

"And  you're  all  right,  then?"  Lou  asked. 
There  was  a  note  of  vast  relief  in  her  voice. 
"You're  all  right,  you — and  Nell?" 

Dan  McGrew's  voice  came  with  an  em 
phasis  of  sincerity: 

"We're  all  right,  Nell  and  I."  Again  his 
voice  came  insistently: 

"Ride  on,  Lou.    We'll  follow." 

Lou  called  out  once  again,  and  the  music 
01  her  voice  was  very  tender: 

"It  will  only  be  for  a  little  longer,  Nell. 
Mother's  brave  darling!" 

Dan's  voice  came  roughly,  to  cover  the  lack 
of  any  response  from  the  child. 

"Hurry,  Lou!     Hurry!    We'll  follow." 

Wholly  unsuspicious,  Lou  rode  on  her  way 
amid  the  shadows  of  the  night.  She  had  no 
least  instinct  to  warn  her  that  now,  at  last,  she 
had  lost  everything  her  life  had  held  dear. 
There  was  still  the  torture  that  had  come  when 
she  had  learned  the  baseness  of  her  husband. 
But  she  could  not  guess  the  last  evil  that  was 
upon  her.  So,  she  rode  swiftly  through  the 
night.  Always,  even  when  they  came  into  the 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     129 

road  at  Hoytsville,  Dan  rode  a  little  in  the 
rear.  Lou  looked  back  from  time  to  time. 
She  could  see  the  outlines  of  man  and  horse. 
She  could  not  see  the  form  of  her  daughter; 
the  bulk  of  the  man  hid  even  its  shadow  from 
her  eyes.  But  the  fact  that  she  could  not  see 
caused  no  fear  in  her,  and  she  rode  swiftly,  as 
contented  as  one  may  be  when  the  sweetness  of 
life  has  changed  to  abomination. 

It  was  not  till  they  came  to  the  outskirts  of 
the  little  city,  through  which  the  main  line  of 
the  railroad  ran,  that  Lou  learned  the  truth. 
It  was  under  the  lights  of  the  streets  that  she 
turned,  and  looked,  and  saw  Dan  McGrew 
close  behind  her — and  saw  that  there  was  none 
clinging  at  his  back.  She  stared  disbeliev- 
ingly.  Then,  a  ghastly  fear  leaped  within 
her. 

"Nell!"  she  cried. 

Her  voice  was  strained  and  shrill,  broken 
with  dread.  "Nell!"  she  repeated,  in  a  tone 
muffled  by  terror.  "Where  is  she?"  She 
turned  her  horse  sharply  and  reined  it  to  Dan 
McGrew's  side.  Motionless,  the  two  re- 


130     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

garded  each  other  through  seconds  that  were 
as  ages. 

Finally,  Dan  McGrew  spoke: 

"She  was  torn  away  when  we  were  swept 
under,"  he  said;  and  his  voice  was  very  com 
passionate.  "I  did  what  I  could.  There  was 
no  way  to  save  her.  She  only  cried  out  once. 
She  must  have  gone  down  immediately." 

Lou  sat  rigid,  gazing  with  eyes  that  widened 
and  burned  in  flames  under  which  the  man  be 
fore  her  cringed.  And  then,  of  a  sudden,  the 
fires  of  her  gaze  were  quenched.  It  was  as  if 
a  black  flood  rolled  over  her  as  well,  and  ex 
tinguished  the  very  last  sparks  of  her  spirit 
The  lids  slowly  fluttered  down  to  closing. 
Under  the  blue  white  of  the  arc-light,  her 
face  was  that  of  a  dead  woman.  The  last 
blow  of  fate  in  that  frightful  day  had  over 
whelmed  her.  She  tottered  in  her  saddle. 
Dan  McGrew,  watching  fearfully  this  thing 
that  had  come  to  pass  through  his  machina 
tions,  leaped,  and  stood,  and  caught  the  faint 
ing  woman  as  she  fell. 

He  remained  motionless  there  for  a  full 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     131 

minute,  with  the  lifeless  body  in  his  arms. 
For  once,  he  found  himself  perplexed,  incom 
petent.  But,  abruptly,  his  thoughts  cleared. 
Something  of  his  usual  self-confidence,  so 
greatly  shaken  this  night,  came  back  to  him. 
He  smiled  with  a  cruel,  utterly  selfish  satis 
faction. 

"It's  the  best  way  out,"  he  muttered  to  him 
self.  "I'll  get  her  into  some  quiet  place. 
She'll  need  a  lot  of  nursing  before  she  gets 
over  all  this.  I'm  sorry  for  Lou,  but  it  had 
to  be;  and  it's  all  for  the  best." 

With  that  monstrous  declaration  concern 
ing  the  evil  that  he  had  wrought,  Dan 
McGrew  strode  forward  toward  the  nearest 
house,  carrying  the  unconscious  woman  in  his 
arms. 


CHAPTER  X 

JIM  and  his  men  rode  throughout  the 
night  in  vain.  Nowhere  could  they 
come  on  any  trace  of  the  fugitives.  There 
was  as  yet  no  telephone  installed  in  this  newly 
settled  region.  But  their  search  was  thor 
ough.  There  were  inquiries  at  the  railway 
stations  in  the  various  towns  round  about.  'At 
none  of  these  had  ought  been  seen  of  Dan 
McGrew  and  woman  and  child.  Jim  found 
himself  baffled  in  his  quest.  He  could  not 
guess  that  the  wife  who  had  thus  deserted  him 
was  lying  in  a  stupor,  from  which  she  aroused 
only  to  rave  over  a  lost  husband  and  a  dead 
child.  He  could  not  know  that  she  had 
broken  under  the  stress  of  sorrow,  and  was 
being  ministered  unto  by  a  kindly  woman  to 
whom  Dan  McGrew  had  told  many  lies,  in 
order  to  enlist  her  sympathetic  aid.  Even  had 
his  inquiries  reached  the  very  house  in  which 

132 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     133 

Lou  was  sheltered,  he  would  still  have  been 
deceived.  For  he  sought  a  mother  and  her 
child :  and  here  was  no  child. 

So,  the  hunt  availed  nothing.  The  three 
who  fled  had  vanished  utterly.  There  came 
not  even  a  rumor  as  to  their  whereabouts. 
They  were  gone  as  completely  as  if  the  earth 
had  opened  and  swallowed  them  up. 

Nevertheless,  Jim  was  not  slow  in  learning 
something  of  the  truth.  He  was  told  of  Dan's 
visit  at  the  ranch  that  fatal  day,  and  of  his 
wife's  accompanying  this  visitor  to  the  town. 
Those  there  were  who  had  seen  the  two  as 
they  dismounted  at  Murphy's  saloon,  and 
looked  in  through  the  window.  Jim,  remem 
bering  his  own  experiences  of  that  day  in  the 
back  room  of  the  saloon,  was  aroused  to  sus 
picion  of  the  fact.  He  got  from  the  bar 
keeper  details  as  to  what  had  occurred.  The 
fellow's  reference,  jestingly  made,  to  the  man 
ner  in  which  Jim  and  the  woman,  Jess,  had 
embraced,  gave  him  a  sudden  illumination 
concerning  the  plot  of  Dan  McGrew  by  which 
his  wife  had  been  beguiled. 


i34    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

Straightway,  Jim  hunted  out  Fingie  Wha- 
len's  woman.  She  would  have  denied,  but,  in 
the  face  of  the  injured  husband's  rage,  she  was 
fairly  terrified  into  confession.  In  the  end, 
the  woman  wrote  at  Jim's  dictation,  even  as 
she  had  written  at  the  dictation  of  Dan 
McGrew.  But,  now,  she  wrote  without  any 
smirk  of  vicious  satisfaction — with  a  face  pal 
lid  and  with  fingers  that  trembled  from  fear 
of  the  fierce-visaged  man  who  stood  over  her 
in  stern  and  menacing  domination.  Fingie 
Whalen,  all  his  bluster  gone,  looked  on  in 
timid  consternation,  cringing  from  the  bale 
ful  threat  in  the  eyes  of  the  man  mortally 
wronged. 

The  painted  woman  was  so  moved  by  the 
anger  of  the  man  whom  she  had  helped  betray, 
that,  for  the  first  time  in  more  years  than  she 
would  have  cared  to  tell,  she  revealed  the  name 
with  which,  back  in  a  quiet  New  England  vil 
lage,  she  had  been  christened  by  simple,  God 
fearing  parents. 

This  was  the  note  of  confession,  which  the 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     135 

woman  wrote  at  Jim's  command,  duly  dated, 
and  witnessed  by  Fingie  Whalen  and  the  land 
lady  of  the  house,  who  was  summoned  for  the 
purpose.  Jim  realized  that  these  formalities 
were  extravagant,  but,  somehow,  they  seemed 
necessary  to  him  just  then,  to  put  this  evidence 
of  the  crime  against  his  home  and  happiness 
beyond  cavil  of  doubt. 

I,  Anne  Weston,  confess  to  tricking  Jim 
Maxwell  and  deceiving  his  wife  at  the  insti 
gation  of  Dan  McGrew.  McGrew  hired 
Fingie  Whalen  and  me  to  help  him  fool  Mrs. 
Maxwell.  I  wrote  the  note  signed  "Jess." 
At  the  time  when  Mr.  Maxwell  was  due  to  ar 
rive  in  town,  I  was  all  ready,  and  as  he  came 
by  fell  from  my  horse  as  if  I  had  fainted.  He 
carried  me  into  the  saloon,  and  then  Fingie 
gave  him  knock-out  drops,  and  we  fixed  it  up 
so  that  when  McGrew  came  with  Mrs.  Max 
well  and  looked  in  at  the  window,  it  was  as 
if  we  were  loving  together.  But  it  was  all  a 
lie,  worked  out  by  Dan  McGrew  to  make 
Mrs.  Maxwell  believe  her  husband  was  false 
to  her. 

ANNE  WESTON. 


.136    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

Jim  carried  that  paper  in  his  pocket.  It 
was  the  document  with  which  he  would  prove 
to  Lou  how  she  had  been  deluded.  But  the 
days  passed,  and  there  came  no  opportunity  to 
show  her  the  sheet  of  paper  on  which  Anne 
Weston  had  scrawled  her  confession.  He 
used  every  means  at  his  command,  but  he  was 
powerless  to  gain  any  trace  of  the  woman 
whom  he  had  loved  and  lost  through  despic 
able  treachery. 

It  was  on  the  fourth  day  after  Lou  had  fled 
her  home,  that  Jim  Maxwell  seated  himself 
at  the  piano  in  the  living-room.  Hitherto,  he 
had  been  so  occupied  in  the  vain  effort  to  find 
his  wife  that  he  had  been,  in  some  measure, 
unappreciative  of  the  misery  that  was  upon 
him.  Now,  when  he  had  exhausted  every  re 
source  of  activity,  he  suddenly  felt  the  desola 
tion  of  his  home — the  ruin  of  his  life.  With 
his  instinct  toward  the  musical  expression  of 
moods,  he  took  his  place  before  the  instru 
ment. 

Then,  again,  that  glorious  love-lyric  came 
softly  sonorous  from  the  keys.  The  lilt  of  the 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     137 

melody  rose  and  fell  with  a  subtle  vigor,  in 
stinct  with  the  joy  of  life.  The  delicate  ten 
derness  of  the  music  throbbed  the  story  of  a 
love  complete  and  enduring.  There  was  pas 
sion  in  the  rhythm.  It  was  a  passion  ennobled 
and  purified  by  the  intricate  harmonies  woven 
around  and  within  it.  It  was  a  song  of  the 
spirit.  It  was  overlaid  with  a  splendor  of 
sensuous  sound.  There  was  nothing  gross — 
only  the  fullness  of  life.  .  .  .  Jim  was  playing 
with  exquisite  art  that  song  of  happiness  which 
he  had  improvised  on  the  day  he  received  the 
news  of  Dan  McGrew's  coming. 

Now,  after  he  had  followed  the  melody  to 
its  end,  the  truth,  which  during  the  moments 
of  his  playing  he  had  forgotten,  crashed  upon 
him  in  a  discord  so  horrible  that  he  could  not 
touch  the  keys  to  voice  it — could  only  sit, 
moveless,  listening  to  the  din  within  his  own 
soul  in  an  ecstasy  of  despair. 

Often,  again,  in  the  years  to  come,  Jim  Max 
well  played  that  same  melody.  Always,  he 
was  searching  for  the  wife  whom  he  had  loved 
and  lost.  Men  whose  eyes  were  sharp  noted 


138     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

him  here  and  there  around  the  world,  because 
he  seemed  so  uninterested  in  everything,  and 
because  so  often  his  left  hand  touched  his 
breast.  ...  In  the  pocket  there,  he  carried, 
ready  for  Lou's  reading,  the  confession  signed 
by  Anne  Weston — the  woman  Jess. 

And,  in  the  years  as  they  passed,  Jim  Max 
well  gained  something  of  reputation  for  an 
other  thing.  He  traveled  the  world  over;  he 
had  money  enough.  His  foreman  was  com 
petent.  Even  without  his  personal  atten 
dance,  the  revenues  from  the  ranch  increased 
year  by  year.  He  lived  for  only  two  things : 
to  find  Lou  and  prove  to  her  his  innocence — 
and  to  kill  the  man  who  had  betrayed  them. 
In  his  search,  Jim  Maxwell  went  everywhere. 
He  was  known  in  the  capitals  of  Europe;  he 
was  known  in  the  wild  places  of  the  earth. 
Men  spoke  of  him,  though  they  had  little 
acquaintance  with  him.  The  reason  they 
spoke  of  him  was  because  on  occasion — it 
might  be  in  the  parlor  of  some  sailor's  lodg 
ing-house  in  Vladivostok,  or  it  might  be  in  a 
drawing-room  of  the  Savoy,  this  man  would 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     139 

seat  himself  at  the  piano,  and  he  would  play. 
And,  always,  he  played  the  self-same  melody, 
a  lilting  air  of  love  and  tenderness,  filled  full 
of  the  joy  of  life.  Always,  too,  the  melody 
was  embroidered  over  with  an  intricate  web 
of  harmonies,  magnificent,  yet  somber.  And, 
in  the  end,  always,  the  player  beat  suddenly 
upon  the  keys  a  frenzy  of  discord. 


CHAPTER  XI 

"r  I  ^HEN  you're  quite  sure,  Jack?  You 
JL  don't  mind  my  being  a — nobody?" 
The  girl's  tone  was  half-playful,  half-sad. 
There  was  a  note  of  wistfulness  in  the  musical 
cadences  of  her  voice. 

The  young  man  whom  she  had  addressed 
answered  with  an  emphasis  that  left  no  doubt 
as  to  his  sincerity.  His  clear  gray  eyes  were 
alight  with  lore,  as  he  looked  into  the  dark, 
gypsy-like  face  of  the  girl  at  his  side. 

"Why,  Nell,  you're  just  everybody. 
You're  everything  worth  while  in  this  little 
old  world  of  ours." 

"You  do  say  the  sweetest  things,  Jack!" 
The  shadowy  eyes  that  met  tenderly  the  warm 
gaze  of  the  lover  were  lighted  with  fond  ap 
preciation.  Then,  of  a  sudden,  the  red  lips 
trembled  into  a  mischievous  smile,  as  she 

added :     "I  guess  I  wouldn't  give  a  snap  for 

140 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     141 

a  sweetheart  who  was  tongue-tied  when  he 
talked  about  my  charms." 

The  two  were  seated  in  the  main  room  of 
a  small,  roughly-built  Alaskan  cabin,  which 
stood  on  the  outskirts  of  a  ramshackle  village, 
created  almost  in  a  day  by  the  gold  lure's 
magic.  The  lovers  had  been  left  alone  to 
gether  on  the  eve  of  their  wedding-day  by  the 
kindness  of  the  girl's  foster  parents,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Ross.  It  was  of  these,  who,  in  the  tiny 
back  room,  were  recalling  the  distant  days  of 
their  own  courtship,  that  Nell  now  spoke. 

"They  have  been  so  good  to  me!"  she  said 
musingly.  uIVe  told  you  that  they  were  not 
really  and  truly  my  parents.  I  didn't  tell  you 
just  how  I  came  to  be  with  them,  because  it 
was  such  a  dreadful  time  to  me.  Even  after 
all  these  years,  I  hate  thinking  of  it." 

"Don't!"  Jack  Reeves  urged.  "What's  past 
is  past,  and  there's  no  earthly  reason  for  you 
to  worry  yourself  over  it  by  telling  me." 

The  girl  shook  her  head. 

"I  want  to  tell  you,  dear,"  she  said  simply. 
Then  she  fell  silent  for  a  little.  The  lover, 


142     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

watching  the  warm  olive  contour  of  the  cheek 
against  which  the  long  black  lashes  swept  as 
her  eyes  closed  in  meditation,  rejoiced  yet 
once  again  in  the  beauty  and  the  daintiness  of 
this  maiden  whom  he  had  found  and  won  for 
himself  here  amid  the  rigors  of  the  North 
land.  He  noted  the  slight  drooping  of  the 
tenderly  curving  lips,  and  longed  to  kiss  away 
their  sadness.  Presently  Nell  went  on  speak 
ing,  rather  rapidly,  as  if  anxious  to  be  done 
with  an  unpleasant  task,  and  in  a  tone  that  told 
of  restrained  emotion: 

"It  was  twelve  years  ago  that  Papa  and 
Mamma  Ross  found  me.  You  know  Papa 
Ross  is  a  born  pioneer,  and  Mamma  has  grown 
to  be  just  like  him.  For  years  they  have  been 
moving  with  the  frontiers.  That  time  they 
were  camping  by  a  river  down  below.  There 
had  been  a  heavy  storm,  and  the  river  ran  high. 
They  heard  a  cry  from  somewhere  out  in  the 
night  on  the  water.  They  ran  to  the  bank 
and  looked.  But  it  was  dark,  and  they 
couldn't  see  anything  or  hear  another  sound. 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     143 

Rover  was  with  them — a  splendid  big  New 
foundland."  The  girl's  voice  softened. 
"Rover  died  two  years  ago,  just  before  we 
came  up  here.  I  loved  him  so!" 

"I  think  I  can  guess,"  Jack  ventured,  as  the 

girl  paused.     "It  was  Rover  who  saved  you 

—for,  of  course,  it  was  you  out  there  in  the 


river." 


The  girl  nodded  somberly. 

"Yes,"  came  her  answer,  very  gently  ut 
tered;  "I  was  out  there  in  the  river,  drowning. 
The  current  swept  me  along  with  it.  There 
was  a  point  of  the  shore  just  below  where 
Papa  Ross  had  camped.  I  was  carried  into 
the  eddies  there.  Somehow,  Rover  caught  a 
glimpse  of  my  face,  or,  maybe,  just  his  instinct 
guided  him.  Anyhow,  as  Papa  Ross  has  told 
me,  Rover  sprang  into  the  river,  and,  when 
Papa  Ross  had  followed  around  the  inlet  to 
ward  the  point,  he  found  the  dog  trying  to 
drag  me  out  of  the  water,  up  on  the  bank. 
Papa  Ross  carried  me  to  the  camp,  and  there 
he  and  Mamma  worked  over  me  for  a  long 


144    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

time.  It  was  a  close  call,  Papa  Ross  says,  but 
finally  they  got  me  to  breathing  again.  .  .  . 
And  that's  about  all." 

"And  so,"  Jack  questioned  in  some  surprise, 
"you  don't  know  any  more  than  that? — where 
you  came  from,  or  anything?" 

Once  again  Nell  shook  her  head. 

"No,  nothing  more  than  that.  Papa  Ross 
always  thought  that  I  must  have  struck  my 
head  somehow,  there  in  the  water.  Anyhow, 
I  was  confused  when  I  came  to.  I  couldn't 
seem  to  remember  anything  exactly — except 
my  name,  Nell.  Sometimes  I  have  shadowy 
memories,  but  they  melt  away  before  I  can 
get  anything  definite.  So,  you  see,  I'm  just  a 
nobody,  Jack,  as  I  told  you — just  a  mystery 
that  came  out  of  the  night  and  the  river." 

"Everybody  to  me,"  the  lover  declared 
again;  "everything  to  me."  And  now,  at  last, 
he  took  the  lithe,  slender  form  of  the  girl  into 
his  arms,  and  kissed  the  sorrowfully  drooping 
lips  to  smiles  again. 

But,  after  a  little,  when  there  came  a  lull  in 
the  caresses  and  murmured  endearments,  Jack 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     145 

Reeves  spoke  a  question  that  was  puzzling 
him: 

"But  I  should  think  it  would  have  been 
easy  enough  to  trace  you?  If  inquiries  had 
been  made,  surely  you  might  have  learned 
where  you  came  from,  and  who  you  were,  and 
all  that?" 

But,  once  again,  Nell  shook  her  head,  and 
this  time  very  emphatically. 

"Papa  Ross  did  what  he  could,  but  it  came 
to  nothing.  When  we  got  to  a  town,  he  tried 
to  find  out  about  any  girl's  being  lost  like  that. 
Nobody  knew  of  any  such  case.  There  was 
no  report  of  any  child's  having  been  drowned. 
He  did  what  he  could — I'm  sure  of  that. 
Anyhow,  as  long  as  you  don't  care,  Jack,  I 
don't  suppose  I  need  to.  But,  somehow— 
Nell's  voice  broke,  and  she  sat  silent,  absorbed 
in  melancholy  reverie.  Always,  this  mystery 
was  a  painful  thing  to  her.  Even  now,  when 
her  happiness  was  full,  on  the  eve  of  her  mar 
riage  to  the  man  she  loved,  she  was  grieved 
by  the  fact  that  she  must  come  to  her  husband 
as  a  waif,  a  creature  wrhose  origin  was  un- 


i46     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

known,  a  nameless  bit  of  flotsam,  dragged 
from  the  river  by  a  dog.  Then,  in  another 
moment,  the  depression  of  her  mood  was  for 
gotten  as  she  drew  away  from  Jack's  embrace, 
for  she  heard  Papa  Ross  stamping  heavily 
about  the  back  room  of  the  cabin — in  kindly 
warning  that  he  was  about  to  intrude  upon 
the  lovers. 

The  next  morning  broke  clear,  and  when  at 
last  the  slowly  clambering  sun  rose  to  traverse 
its  short  circle  between  the  horizons,  its  slant 
ing  beams  seemed  full  of  warmth  and  good 
cheer,  though  the  mercury  stood  at  twenty  de 
grees  below  zero.  There  was  not  a  breath  of 
wind,  and  the  chill  air,  pure  with  a  purity 
unknown  to  lower  latitudes,  was  like  the  wine 
of  life.  The  breath  of  it  in  the  lungs  set  the 
blood  a-tingle  with  joyousness.  And  the 
purity  of  the  air  had  for  its  background 
the  visible  purity  of  the  snow-mantle  that  lay 
over  everything.  Beneath  the  sun,  the  white 
expanse  shimmered  in  prismatic  brilliance. 
Afar,  the  mountains  loomed  in  purple  masses 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     147 

— the  green  of  conifers  seen  through  the  vista 
of  many  miles. 

And  the  day,  in  its  spirit  of  vigorous  life 
and  wholesome  gayety,  was  suited  to  the  mood 
of  the  tiny  temporary  town,  which  sprawled 
here  in  the  wilderness.  For  the  place  was  en 
fete.  The  hardy  men  who  had  thus  ventured 
into  the  wilds  of  the  North  welcomed  the  di 
version  of  this  romance  among  them,  which 
was  to  culminate  to-day  in  the  wedding  of 
Jack  Reeves  and  Nell  Ross  at  the  Dyea  Hotel. 
Public  sentiment  had  insisted  that  the  nuptials 
should  be  celebrated  at  the  hotel.  The  hotel, 
truth  to  tell,  was  neither  commodious  nor  im 
posing.  But  it  was  a  boarded  structure,  the 
only  one  in  the  village,  and  it  was  by  far  the 
largest,  small  though  it  was.  And  the  citi 
zens  were  determined  that  they  should  be 
permitted  to  assemble  in  force  on  this  auspi 
cious  day,  when  the  glamour  of  love  was  to 
soften  in  some  degree  the  austerity  of  the 
arctic  land.  So,  betimes,  the  men  of  the  com 
munity  gathered  at  the  hotel  to  await  the  mar 
riage  ceremony.  A  scant  half-dozen  women, 


i48     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

courageous  followers  of  the  men  they  loved, 
were  there  as  well.  Some  had  been  at  pains 
to  bring  heaps  of  evergreen  boughs,  and  with 
these  the  main  room  of  the  hotel — at  once 
lobby,  bar  and  office — was  decorated.  Cari 
bou  Bill  brought  a  great  bank  of  moss,  for 
which  he  had  dug  through  six  feet  of  snow. 
To  it  was  attached  a  piece  of  flaming-red 
paper,  in  which  tea  had  originally  been 
packed,  and  this  paper  had  been  laboriously 
cut  by  Caribou  Bill  into  the  shape  of  two 
hearts,  lovingly  joined  as  one.  The  symbol 
of  wedded  happiness  was  established  by  its 
smirking  inventor  on  the  central  shelf  above 
the  bar,  where  it  commanded  the  enthusiastic 
admiration  of  the  populace. 

It  was  noon  to  the  second  when  Nell  Ross 
and  Jack  Reeves  stood  in  the  center  of  the 
main  room  of  the  hotel  before  the  one  who 
was  to  make  them  man  and  wife.  He,  too, 
was  at  heart  a  pioneer,  and  he  was,  as  well, 
an  earnest  worker  for  the  saving  of  souls. 
His  own  preference,  with  a  roving  commis 
sion,  had  brought  him  to  this  remote  place. 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     149 

He  found  a  singular  pleasure  in  the  fact  that 
his  ministrations  were  required  for  the  uniting 
of  this  winsome  maiden  and  this  virile,  clean 
young  man.  It  was  as  if  the  ceremony  typi 
fied  in  some  fashion  the  purity  and  vigor  of 
life  here  within  the  frozen  North.  ...  It 
was  noon  to  the  second!  The  time-keeper 
was  Harry,  the  Dog-Man,  who  carried  a 
Waterbury  watch,  on  the  accuracy  of  which 
he  would  cheerfully  have  staked  his  hopes  of 
eternal  happiness.  Because  of  the  exactness 
of  his  time-piece,  which  none  cared  to  deny, 
he  had  usurped  the  office  of  master  of  cere 
monies.  When  he  saw  the  two  hands  of  the 
\vatch  blent  as  one  upon  the  hour  of  twelve,  he 
raised  his  arm,  and  Nell  and  Jack  moved  for 
ward  within  the  little  lane  walled  by  the 
crowd,  to  stand  before  the  clergyman,  who 
regarded  them  with  a  benevolent  smile,  in 
which,  unknown  to  himself,  was  something  al 
most  of  envy  in  the  presence  of  their  youth 
and  happiness  and  love. 

So,  the  minister  spoke  the  words  that  made 
this  pair  husband  and  wife. 


150     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

There  was  a  noise  of  snapping  dogs  outside. 
A  man  came  into  the  hotel,  stamping  the  snow 
from  the  high-buckled  overshoes  worn  over 
his  boots  of  felt.  Behind  him  came  a  woman 
muffled  in  furs.  She  looked  on  the  scene  with 
a  certain  feminine  interest,  for  she  realized  at 
once  that  a  wedding  was  in  progress;  but 
without  any  personal  concern.  Indeed,  she 
was  rather  displeased,  being  weary  from  a 
long  journey  over  the  snows,  because  she  saw 
that  she  must  wait  for  attention  until  the  cere 
mony  should  be  concluded.  The  man  with 
her  shook  the  hood  of  the  parka  from  his 
head,  and  stood  regarding  with  cynical  amuse 
ment  the  two  who  had  clasped  hands  before 
the  clergyman.  So  he  waited  while  the 
words  were  uttered  that  made  the  pair  one. 
The  ceremony  ended,  the  husband  kissed  the 
bride;  the  minister  in  turn  bent  and  touched 
his  lips  to  hers,  with  a  curious  stirring  of  half- 
forgotten  emotions. 

Then  the  crowd  surged  forward,  eager  for 
its  prerogative  of  a  kiss.  And,  as  she  turned, 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     151 

Nell  saw  the  man  who  had  just  entered,  stand 
ing  there  with  that  smile  of  cynical  amuse 
ment  upon  his  handsome  face.  The  eyes  of 
the  two  met  and  battled.  There  came  to  her 
a  strange  feeling  of  dread.  In  this,  the  su 
preme  moment  of  her  life,  wherein  all  had 
been  happiness,  there  stirred  a  feeling  of 
doubt,  of  evil  anticipation. 

The  man,  staring  into  the  face  of  this  beau 
tiful  girl  upon  whose  nuptials  he  had  stumbled 
by  chance,  experienced  a  thrill  of  emotion 
which  he  could  not  understand.  Some  secret 
monition  moved  him  to  an  alarm.  He  felt  an 
unreasonable  disturbance  in  the  presence  of 
this  girl.  .  .  .  Dan  McGrew  had  no  suspi 
cion  that  he  had  blundered  thus  on  the  child 
who,  years  before,  had  been  swept  away  from 
him  in  the  darkness  of  the  river's  flood-tide. 
.  .  .  Nor  did  the  woman,  who  stood  behind 
him  so  wearily,  waiting  for  the  end  of  this 
tiresome  ceremony,  guess  that  the  gentle  girl, 
blushing  there  under  the  storm  of  kisses 
claimed  by  the  crowd,  was,  in  fact,  the  daugh- 


152     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

ter  for  whose  death  she  had  mourned  through 
so  many  years.  .  .  .  Nell  did  not  see  the 
woman  at  all. 

Of  a  sudden  there  came  an  interruption: 

A  man  leaped  through  the  doorway.  He 
waved  his  hands  and  staggered  as  one 
drunken.  His  voice  rose  in  a  raucous  shriek: 

"They've  struck  it  rich  on  Forgotten 
Creek!" 

There  was  a  moment  of  intense  stillness. 
These  men  had  fled  from  civilization  in  pur 
suit  of  the  will-o'-the-wisp  of  gold.  Now 
sounded  the  clarion  call: 

"They've  struck  it  rich  on  Forgotten 
Creek!" 

For  long  seconds  the  stillness  endured. 
Then,  abruptly,  there  came  a  huge  cachinna- 
tion.  It  was  the  mellow,  roaring  laughter  of 
Bert  Black,  the  only  negro  in  this  Aladdin 
village  so  close  up  under  the  Pole.  The  com 
pany  looked  at  the  man  expectantly,  and  he 
answered  the  interrogation  in  their  eyes : 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     153 

"We-all  is  just  shohly  goin'  to  have  a  stam 
pede!" 

Then,  again,  the  silence  held  for  a  little, 
while  each  and  every  man  of  them  saw  the 
vision  of  the  straggled  crowd  trailing  the 
waste  places,  lured  on  by  the  will-o'-the-wisp 
of  gold. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  Fates,  in  weaving  the  intricate  web 
of  human  lives,  smile  grimly  oftentimes 
over  the  curious  intermingling  of  the  threads. 
Often,  too,  the  incomplete  design  might  well 
move  them  to  a  cruel  mirth,  but  that  they  see 
beyond  the  seeming  tangle  of  events  to  the 
perfecting  of  their  pattern  at  the  last.  So, 
perhaps,  they  are  content  of  their  task,  though 
we  mortals,  with  short-sighted  eyes,  seeing 
dimly,  look  on  the  happenings  of  our  lives  as 
the  blessed  or  the  baneful  work  of  chance. 
Thus,  now,  the  Fates  had  brought  here,  be 
neath  the  flickering  of  the  Northern  Lights,  all 
the  actors  in  the  drama  of  the  years  agone, 
when  the  happiness  of  a  home  had  been  shat 
tered  by  a  villain's  ruthless  passion.  Their 
presence  within  a  short  radius  of  miles  had 
every  appearance  of  purest  chance.  Never- 

154 


155 

theless,  the  Fates  had  brought  them  within 
reach  of  one  another,  that  thus  the  seeming 
snarl  in  the  threads  of  these  lives  might  be 
shown  as  in  fact  untangled  and  woven  into  a 
design  just  and  harmonious  and  beautiful. 

Dan  McGrew  moved  sociably  among  the 
men  of  the  village,  as  they  celebrated  the  wed 
ding  with  many  jovial  libations.  He  was 
hail-fellow-well-met  with  each  and  all,  for  it 
had  come  to  be  a  matter  of  professional  neces 
sity  with  him  to  attain  a  fair  measure  of 
popularity  whithersoever  he  went.  He  had 
deteriorated  much  with  the  passage  of  the 
years.  He  had  sunk  to  be  a  common  gambler, 
and  on  occasion  had  not  scrupled  at  worse 
methods  in  pursuit  of  ill-gotten  gains.  To 
day  his  keen  eyes  were  speedily  drawn  to  one 
of  the  men,  who  wras  especially  lavish  in  hos 
pitality. 

"Who  is  he?"  Dan  asked  of  the  bar-tender. 
"Seems  flush,  all  right." 

"That's  Sam  Ward,"  was  the  answer. 
"He's  got  a  hole  somewhere  up  in  the  hills, 
which  nobody  don't  know  nothin'  about — 


1 56     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

'cept  it's  cussed  rich.  Sam  blows  a  pokeful 
o'  dust  ev'ry  time  he  hits  town." 

Dan  eyed  the  fortunate  prospector  greedily, 
and  his  predatory  instinct  brought  him  to  a 
quick  decision.  He  went  to  Lou,  who  was 
sitting,  drearily  enough,  alone  at  a  table  in  a 
corner  of  the  room.  He  spoke  to  her  softly, 
that  none  might  overhear,  though  of  this  there 
was  little  danger  amid  the  noise  of  rollicking 
gayety. 

"There's  a  chap  here  I  mean  to  chum  up 
with  a  bit,"  Dangerous  Dan  explained.  "I'll 
introduce  him,  and  you  must  be  nice  enough 
to  him  to  make  him  talk." 

The  woman  nodded  assent.  For  it  had 
come  to  such  a  pass.  Often,  she  had  stooped 
to  play  decoy  for  the  man  in  his  schemes 
against  his  fellows. 

Dan  McGrew  had  persistently  lied  to  this 
woman.  By  his  arts  he  had  ruined  her  life. 
But  Lou  had  still  no  inkling  of  the  truth. 
One  great  fact  was  impressed  upon  her  as  time 
passed:  This  man  loved  her — and  he  was 
loyal  to  her.  Since  she  had  lost  everything 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     157 

dear,  it  seemed  her  duty  to  give  the  worthless 
remnant  of  her  life  to  the  one  who  thus 
esteemed  it  something  precious. 

When  Lou  returned  to  consciousness,  after 
the  fever  and  delirium  that  seized  her  the 
dreadful  night  of  the  flight  from  home,  her 
first  question  was  concerning  the  drowned 
child. 

The  man  at  the  bedside  met  her  imploring 
gaze  steadfastly,  and  spoke  his  falsehoods  so 
convincingly  that  she  had  never  a  doubt 
The  river  had  been  searched  with  every  care, 
he  declared.  The  body  had  not  been  found. 
The  bereaved  mother  had  been  denied  the  last 
pitiful  solace  of  grief — a  place  of  burial 
wherein  to  mourn  over  the  lost. 

After  the  final  deprivation,  Lou  was  apa 
thetic.  The  light  had  gone  out  of  her  life. 
She  was  numb  with  misery.  Her  most  dis 
tinct  emotion  was  a  sort  of  passive  gratitude 
toward  the  man  who  had  so  frightfully 
wronged  her.  It  was  in  obedience  to  the 
promptings  of  this  feeling  that  Lou  meekly 


i58     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

accepted  his  every  suggestion.  She  did  so 
with  the  more  readiness  because  these  sugges 
tions  were  so  skillfully  contrived  as  to  seem 
the  epitome  of  unselfishness. 

Thus,  for  example,  there  was  the  matter  of 
divorce.  Dan  learned  that  the  kindly  woman 
into  whose  house  he  had  brought  Lou  suffered 
from  nostalgia.  She  had  come  out  into  the 
West  with  an  eager,  improvident  husband, 
who  had  died  and  left  her  with  this  tiny  home, 
on  which  the  mortgage  of  a  few  hundreds 
rested  as  a  burden  beyond  her  strength  to  re 
move.  She  was  sick  with  longing  to  go  back 
among  the  home-folk.  Dan's  sympathetic 
voice  and  candid,  honest  eyes  won  confidence 
from  the  lonely  old  woman.  And,  too,  she 
quickly  grew  fond  of  the  invalid  in  her  house. 
Therefore,  she  had  no  hesitation  in  acceding 
to  the  proposal  made  to  her  by  Dan  McGrew: 
that  she  should  travel  to  the  East  with  Lou,  as 
nurse  and  companion.  The  money  offered  to 
her  by  Dan  McGrew  for  these  services  was 
enough  to  ease  her  declining  years.  More 
over,  there  was  the  added  inducement  that,  in 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     159 

this  manner,  she  would  be  able  to  return  to  the 
place  for  which  she  longed. 

Lou  made  no  objection  to  the  arrangement 
She  liked  the  old  woman,  and  the  instinct  of 
flight  was  still  upon  her.  .  .  .  She  was  only 
grateful  to  the  man  who  was  at  such  pains  in 
her  behalf. 

In  due  time,  the  three  were  duly  established 
in  the  East.  Dangerous  Dan,  in  the  course  of 
his  daily  visits  to  Lou  from  a  lodging  he  had 
taken  close  at  hand,  guided  her  thoughts  so 
craftily  that,  with  no  suspicion  of  having  been 
influenced,  the  heart-broken  woman  decided 
that  she  should  get  a  divorce.  Dan  had 
chosen  a  location  in  a  State  where  desertion 
was  a  sufficient  cause.  Lou  brought  suit,  and 
the  issue  was  expedited  in  the  courts.  She  be 
lieved  that  thus  she  gave  to  her  husband  an 
opportunity  to  marry  the  woman  with  whom 
he  had  become  infatuated,  and  thus,  too,  an 
opportunity  to  restore  in  some  degree  his  self- 
respect.  .  .  .  She  could  not  guess  that,  owing 
to  the  treachery  of  the  man  on  whose  advice 
she  relied,  her  husband  had  no  knowledge 


i6o    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

whatsoever  of  these  proceedings.  The  news 
papers,  with  their  formal  advertisements  to 
the  defendant  in  the  action  instituted  in  the 
courts,  were  never  posted  to  the  address  of 
the  ranch-owner.  .  .  .  Dan  McGrew  saw  to 
that. 

Eventually,  there  came  a  decree  nisi.  In 
due  time,  the  divorce  was  made  absolute. 
Throughout  this  interval  of  delay,  the  man 
demonstrated  the  firmness  of  his  purpose  by 
the  patience  with  which  he  waited  for  the  at 
tainment  of  his  ends. 

It  was  not  until  a  year  after  her  flight  from 
home  that  Lou  became  the  wife  of  Dangerous 
Dan  McGrew.  .  .  .  Why  should  she  not  give 
herself  to  him  who  had  so  befriended  her? 

The  late  dawn  of  the  morning  after  the 
wedding  came  on  clear,  with  a  soft  wind 
blowing  from  the  south.  Under  its  gentle 
ness,  the  sun  was  able  to  thaw  the  surface  of 
the  snow.  Then  the  wind  swung  to  the  north. 
Within  an  hour,  the  crust  on  the  snow,  as  the 
Arctic  air  blew  over  it,  was  strong  enough 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     161 

to  support  a  horse.  And  Dan  McGrew  and 
many  another  took  advantage  of  the  fact. 
There  were  a  few  meagerly  fed  horses  in  the 
town,  remnants  from  the  discontinued  Lode 
star  Mine,  which  had  failed  to  pay  a  profit, 
after  elaborate  installation  of  equipment. 
They  knew  that  at  the  first  change  of  the 
weather  their  mounts  would  become  worse 
than  useless.  In  the  meantime,  however, 
there  was  a  luxury  in  this  form  of  travel  that 
appealed.  And  there  were  hangers-on  in  the 
town,  too  poor  for  a  grub-stake,  who  for  a 
pittance  would  run  on  foot  with  the  train,  and 
afterward  take  back  the  horses  to  the  village, 
when  a  softer  snow  should  make  them  a  hin 
drance  rather  than  a  help. 

Nell  used  the  voice  of  wifely  authority: 
"Why,  the  ideal  Of  course  I  shall  go 
too!"  She  was  all  eagerness.  For  years  she 
had  lived  with  those  who  were  informed  with 
the  spirit  of  the  frontiers.  Her  husband,  thus 
far  in  his  battling  with  the  Northland,  had 
been  successful.  He  had  found  claims  of 
value.  Some  of  them  he  had  sold;  some  of 


them  he  had  worked.  From  most  of  them  he 
had  won  a  deserved  profit.  So,  when  the 
news  of  the  strike  on  Forgotten  Creek  came 
—even  though  it  was  his  wedding-day — Jack 
Reeves  was  all  agog  with  anxiety  to  be  off  to 
this  region  whither  fortune  beckoned.  .  .  . 
And  Nell  would  not  be  left  behind.  She 
would  follow  her  husband  where  fate  led. 
She  would  not  be  denied. 

Thus  it  came  about  that  the  bridal  pair 
were  among  the  crowd  that  surged  in  the  vil 
lage  street  before  the  Dyea  Hotel  on  the 
morning  after  their  wedding.  Jack  had  a 
team  of  dogs,  the  best  within  hundreds  of 
miles.  They  were  strong  enough  to  make 
play  of  hauling  the  long  sled,  laden  with  pro 
visions,  on  which  Nell  was  seated  with  ease, 
well-wrapped  in  furs,  and  sheltered  beneath 
a  drapery  of  white — the  skin  of  a  polar  bear, 
which  Jack  had  brought  back  with  him  as 
a  trophy  of  experiences  beneath  the  Arctic 
night. 
There  were  in  the  throng  men  who  had  no 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     163 

dogs.  They  carried  on  their  backs  the  small 
allowance  of  bacon,  beans,  flour,  tea,  coffee, 
sugar,  tobacco.  The  adventurers  were  of  all 
sorts.  Some  went  well  supplied.  Others 
joined  in  the  stampede  recklessly.  They  might 
starve,  or  freeze,  out  there  in  the  mountains. 
But  they  were  caught  and  drawn  on  by  the 
lust  for  riches.  Somewhere  out  there  in  the 
cold  and  the  distance  gold  was  lying.  In  the 
sands  of  the  creeks,  in  the  ledges  of  the  moun 
tains,  were  the  golden  flakes,  the  riches  for 
which  each  and  every  one  craved.  .  .  . 

The  huskies  yelped  and  snarled  in  fierce 
rivalry.  Harry,  the  Dog-Man,  snapped  his 
whip  with  a  vicious  crack  like  the  report  of  a 
gun.  The  dogs  strained  against  the  breast- 
straps  in  their  fierce  lunge  forward.  Along 
the  line  was  everywhere  impetuous,  eager 
movement.  The  stampede  had  begun. 

Dangerous  Dan  McGrew,  who  rode  beside 
his  wife,  spoke  to  her  softly,  so  that  his  ques 
tion  would  not  be  overheard  by  Sam  Ward, 
who  rode  on  her  other  side: 


164 

"What  does  he  say?" 
Lou  answered  in  a  whisper: 
"He'll   leave    to-night,   when    the   camp's 
quiet,  for  his  own  claim." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

FROM  a  nook  on  the  mountainside,  a  lone 
man  watched  scornfully  the  long,  thin 
line  of  the  stampede. 

Those  same  threads  spun  by  the  Fates  had 
caught  another  in  their  mesh.  In  a  lonely 
hut,  there  in  the  desolate  Northland,  Jim 
Maxwell  had  his  home.  His  presence  was 
needful  for  the  weaving  of  that  design  by 
which  right  should  be  realized  in  the  final 
presentation  of  life's  tapestry.  He  had  trav 
eled  thus  far  beyond  the  confines  of  civi 
lization  under  the  urge  of  that  immutable 
purpose  which  drove  him  in  all  his  wander 
ings  throughout  the  years — to  find  the  man  he 
hated,  and  the  woman  he  loved.  He  had 
sought  vainly  over  all  the  world  in  the  usual 
haunts  of  men — in  many  that  were  unusual. 
Never,  anywhere,  had  he  found  a  trace.  He 
had  come  into  this  forbidding  land,  not  for 

165 


the  lure  of  gold,  as  the  others  had  come;  but 
for  the  lure  of  vengeance  against  the  man  who 
had  despoiled  him,  and  for  the  lure  of  love 
toward  the  woman  who  had  his  heart  in  her 
keeping. 

Then,  somehow,  Jim  Maxwell,  when  he 
found  himself  isolated  there  in  a  cabin  amid 
the  loneliness  of  this  land,  almost  forgot  ven 
geance,  almost  forgot  love,  in  the  immensity 
of  the  peace  that  brooded  over  the  snow-clad 
wastes.  In  the  hut  he  had  built  with  his  own 
hands,  from  spruce  timbers,  he  was  snugly 
sheltered  against  the  austerities  of  the  clime. 
He  had  fuel  enough,  of  his  gathering  along 
the  wooded  slopes  of  the  foot-hills.  In  the 
maw  of  the  sheet-iron  stove,  which  he  had 
packed,  the  resinous  branches  were  trans 
muted  into  dancing  flames,  redolent  of 
warmth  and  cheer  in  the  tiny  room  of  the 
hut,  though  outside  the  blasts  from  the  Pole 
were  cold  as  the  ice  from  which  they 
came. 

The  day  of  his  daughter's  wedding — 
though  he  had  no  least  suspicion  that  wife,  or 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     167 

child,  or  enemy  was  within  thousands  of  miles 
-Jim  made  a  round  of  his  traps.  In  making 
the  circuit,  he  was  absorbed,  without  thought, 
for  the  time  being,  of  the  life  that  had 
been,  without  thought  of  vengeance,  without 
thought  of  love.  It  was  only  after  he  had  re 
turned  at  nightfall  to  the  hut,  and  had  fried 
his  mess  of  bacon  on  top  of  the  red-hot  stove, 
and  had  boiled  his  coffee  hard,  as  one  must 
in  the  North,  where  there  is  need  of  all  the 
energy  from  food,  that  Jim  sat  down  on  his 
bunk  of  spruce  boughs,  ready  for  sleep — yet, 
for  a  moment,  wakeful. 

Then  there  sounded  softly  on  his  ears  that 
old,  old  lyric  of  lore.  It  was  the  song  that 
had  been  played  out  of  the  feeling  of  his  heart 
for  his  wife,  in  the  years  long  gone.  It  was 
that  improvisation  with  which  he  had  told 
Lou  his  passion  on  the  day  when  he  had  heard 
that  Dan  McGrew  was  coming  to  visit  them. 
Now,  Jim  had  no  means  of  audible  expression. 
Nevertheless,  the  song  welled  in  him.  It 
thrilled  in  every  atom  of  his  being.  It  was 
that  same  wonderful,  joyous,  lilting  melody, 


1 68     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

full  of  life  at  its  best.     The  tenderness  of  love 
rang  in  its  cadences.    Jim's  fingers  tensed— 
they  were  hungry  to  seize  the  chords,  rapa 
cious  to  pounce  on  the  notes  that  voiced  this 
heart-song  of  a  lost  happiness. 

Jim  aroused  from  the  trance  of  memory. 
He  looked  to  the  fire,  and  rolled  into  the  bunk. 
.  .  .  He  had  heard,  that  day,  in  a  native 
iglook,  of  a  find  of  gold  on  Forgotten  Creek. 
He  recalled  the  fact  drowsily  as  sleep  fell  on 
him. 

"I'll  take  a  look  across  the  valley  in  the 
morning,"  he  thought.  "There's  sure  to  be  a 
stampede." 

So  it  came  about  on  the  day  following  the 
marriage  of  Nell  Ross  and  Jack  Reeves  that 
there  was  a  watcher  who  looked  out  over  the 
valley  through  which  the  long  line  of  dogs 
and  men  hurried  toward  the  possible  riches  of 
Forgotten  Creek. 

Jim  seated  himself  on  the  trunk  of  a  fallen 
spruce,  high  on  the  mountainside.  From  this 
point,  he  overlooked  the  whole  length  of  the 
valley.  He  saw  at  last  the  animate  line  dart- 


DAN      MCC.RKW,    STAKING      DOWN      WITH      HUNGRY      KYKS,      SAW 
THE     MINKR. 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     169 

ing  out  of  the  distance,  and  watched  as  it  be 
came  definite,  with  a  smile  of  cynical  amuse 
ment  .  .  .  These  were  the  hunters  of  gold. 
And  gold — Bah!  There  were  only  two 
things  in  the  world :  love  and  vengeance. 

From  his  seat  on  the  fallen  spruce,  Jim 
Maxwell  stared  out  over  the  valley.  For 
hours  he  sat  there.  He  saw  the  breaking  up 
of  the  company,  as  its  members  scattered  in 
various  directions,  now  that  they  were  come 
into  the  region  of  possible  wealth.  At  the 
last,  the  valley  showed  clear  of  the  human 
invaders.  .  .  .  And,  just  then,  Jim  Maxwell 
heard  a  sound,  which  already  he  had  learned 
to  know,  there  in  the  Northland.  It  was  a 
gentle  sound,  but  with  a  sibilance  that  held  a 
threat  of  danger — like  the  hiss  of  a  gigantic 
serpent. 

As  he  heard,  Jim  instinctively  let  out  a 
great  shout  of  fear  in  the  presence  of  this 
peril  so  close  upon  him.  In  the  same  mo 
ment,  without  pausing  to  look  up,  he  dropped 
from  the  log  on  which  he  had  been  sitting, 
and  crowded  as  closely  under  it  as  he  could, 


1 70     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

to  make  it  serve  as  a  bulwark — though,  in 
deed,  he  well  knew  the  futility  of  such  a  pro 
tection  against  the  avalanche  that  was  now 
crashing  down  the  slope.  Crouched  there  be 
neath  the  log,  Jim  awaited  the  issue  with  an 
unuttered  prayer  for  escape  in  his  heart — if 
escape  should  be  possible. 

In  another  instant  the  din  of  the  snow-slide 
burst  on  his  ears  in  its  full  fury.  And,  along 
with  that  thunderous  noise,  the  daylight  was 
blotted  out.  In  the  darkness,  the  man  felt  the 
soft,  yet  inexorable  weight  of  the  massed  snow 
crushing  upon  him,  holding  him  as  in  a  vise. 
There  was  a  tiny  free  space  still  beneath  the 
log,  and  as  yet  he  had  no  lack  of  air.  But 
he  was  powerless  to  stir.  He  realized  that 
there  was  no  possibility  of  digging  his  way 
out  through  the  heaped  bulk  of  snow  within 
which  he  lay  entombed.  He  could  find  no 
room  for  hope.  He  resigned  himself  to  meet 
the  end  with  what  fortitude  he  might.  A 
wave  of  wrath  swept  through  him  that  he 
must  die  thus  futilely,  with  his  vengeance  un 
accomplished.  The  emotion  passed  presently, 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     171 

and  in  its  stead  came  a  vast  and  poignant 
yearning  for  the  woman  he  loved.  By  a 
fierce  effort  of  will,  he  fought  down  such  de 
sires,  which  he  deemed  weakness  at  this  time, 
and  strove  to  look  Death  in  the  face  calmly, 
with  resignation  and  without  fear. 

Jack  Reeves  and  his  bride,  despite  the  ex 
cellence  of  the  young  prospector's  dog-team, 
lagged  behind  the  others  in  the  long  line  of 
the  stampede,  for  the  young  husband  had  his 
own  ideas  concerning  a  location  likely  to  yield 
the  best  results,  and  meant  to  let  the  crowd 
precede  him,  in  order  that  he  might  pursue 
his  course  unmarked.  So  it  came  about  that, 
after  the  straggling  procession  of  gold-hunters 
had  passed  from  the  sight  of  Jim  Maxwell, 
the  newly  married  pair  entered  the  valley, 
riding  at  ease  behind  the  leisurely  moving 
dogs.  Jim  Maxwell,  from  his  position  on  the 
mountainside,  held  his  gaze  turned  toward 
where  the  last  of  the  stampeders  had  vanished, 
and  so  failed  to  observe  the  newcomers. 
Thus,  when  the  avalanche  swept  down  upon 


1 72     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

him,  he  had  no  thought  that  his  wild,  instinc 
tive  cry  for  succor  could  be  heard. 

But  it  was.  A  quarter  of  a  mile  away, 
Jack  Reeves  heard  the  despairful  shout;  and 
Nell,  too,  heard  it.  Jack's  quick  gaze,  dart 
ing  in  the  direction  of  the  sound,  caught  a 
glimpse  of  moving  shadow  against  the  white 
surface  of  the  slope,  as  Jim  dropped  from  the 
log  to  take  shelter  beneath  it.  At  the  same 
time,  there  came  to  Jack's  ears  the  first  noise 
of  the  avalanche's  descent,  and  he  understood 
fully  how  great  was  the  peril  of  the  unknown, 
whose  cry  for  help  he  had  heard.  He  called 
to  his  dogs  savagely,  and  sent  them  forward 
toward  the  slope  at  speed.  Before  he  had 
time  to  explain  to  the  startled  Nell,  the  rush 
and  roar  of  the  snow-slide  made  clear  the  situ 
ation  to  her,  familiar  as  she  was  with  this  peril 
of  the  mountains.  Yet,  ere  the  hurtling 
masses  of  snow  buried  the  spot  where  he  had 
seen  the  moving  shadow,  Jack  marked  its  lo 
cation  precisely  by  means  of  an  outcropping 
ledge,  just  to  the  right  of  the  tree-trunk.  As 
he  went  forward  swiftly,  he  noted  with  re- 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     173 

lief  that  the  slide,  which  soon  ceased,  was  a 
comparatively  small  one,  though  of  a  size  suf 
ficient  to  prove  fatal  to  its  victim,  unless  aided 
from  without. 

At  the  foot  of  the  slope,  some  distance  to  the 
right  of  the  freshly  heaped-up  snow,  the  sled 
was  halted.  Jack  and  Nell  put  on  their  snow- 
shoes,  and,  with  a  couple  of  spades  from  the 
pack,  made  their  way  with  some  difficulty  to 
the  jutting  point  of  the  ledge,  which  still  pro 
truded  a  little  beyond  the  new  covering  of 
snow.  A  few  feet  to  the  left  of  this,  they  be 
gan  to  dig,  working  with  feverish  haste. 
They  progressed  rapidly,  for  the  prospector 
was  in  the  full  prime  of  his  manhood,  with 
muscles  like  steel,  and  the  girl,  if  less  strong, 
was  in  equally  perfect  condition,  and  with 
training  enough  in  the  arduous  life  of  the 
frontier  to  make  the  toil  simple  to  her. 

They  had  dug  down  perhaps  a  score  of  feet, 
and  had  reached,  as  Jack  judged,  almost  to 
the  ground,  so  that  he  feared  lest  he  might 
have  mistaken  the  location,  when  suddenly 
Nell  rested  motionless. 


i74    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

"Listen!"  she  commanded.  Her  tense  face 
was  radiant. 

Jack  ceased  shoveling,  and  listened  as  he 
had  been  bidden. 

There  came  a  faint,  strangely  muffled  sound. 
It  came  again — an  indistinguishable,  inarticu 
late  mutter  from  somewhere  under  the  snow 
at  their  feet. 

Jack  shouted  triumphantly. 

"By  cricky,  Nell,"  he  cried  joyously,  "we've 
struck  him,  sure  as  sin!"  He  raised  his  voice 
to  its  full  volume  in  a  cheerful  bellow,  meant 
to  reach  the  ears  of  the  imprisoned  man 
below: 

"Buck  up,  old  pal!  We'll  have  you  out  in 
a  jiffy."  Then  the  bridal  pair  betook  them 
selves  to  shoveling  with  the  enthusiasm  in 
spired  by  success. 

There  was  no  difficulty  in  the  completion 
of  the  work  of  rescue.  Very  soon,  the  excava 
tion  reached  the  log  under  which  Jim  Max 
well  was  sheltered,  and  he  was  able  to  crawl 
forth  with  some  difficulty,  owing  to  cramped 
and  aching  muscles,  but  safe  and  sound.  He 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     175 

was  a  little  dazed  over  his  escape,  when  he 
had  resigned  himself  to  hopelessness.  It 
seemed  to  him  as  if  a  miracle  had  been 
wrought  in  his  behalf  by  the  timely  appear 
ance  of  these  two,  where  he  had  believed  there 
was  none  to  aid  him.  His  feeling  of  wonder 
was  increased  by  the  fact  that  one  of  these  two 
who  had  saved  him  from  death,  and  who  now 
stood  beside  him  supporting  him,  was  a  girl, 
whose  dark,  lovely  face  beneath  the  fur  cap 
was  alight  with  an  almost  maternal  joy  over 
the  deliverance  in  which  she  had  shared. 
The  event  seemed,  somehow,  to  soften  in  a 
certain  degree  the  nature  of  the  man,  embit 
tered  by  long  years  of  suffering  under  a  griev 
ous  wrong.  For  almost  the  first  time  since 
the  loss  he  had  sustained  at  the  hands  of  Dan 
McGrew,  Jim  Maxwell  felt  a  warm  emotion, 
which  was  close  to  tenderness.  He  continued 
to  regard  the  two  bewilderedly.  But  his 
voice,  when  at  last  he  spoke,  was  firm,  and 
vibrant  with  gratitude: 

"You  saved  me — and  I  sha'n't  forget  it." 
He  paused  for  a  moment,  then  added  whimsi- 


1 76     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

cally:  "I  don't  know  who  you  are,  or  how 
you  got  here — unless  you're  two  sure-enough 
angels,  dropped  plumb-straight  down  from 
heaven  for  this  special  occasion."  The  half- 
jesting  note  left  his  voice.  "And  I'll  say  just 
one  thing:  If  you  children  erer  need  a 
friend,  you  can  call  on  me,  and  I  shaVt  fail 
you.  In  the  meantime,"  he  added  briskly, 
"I  want  you  to  be  my  guests  for  the  night. 
My  cabin  is  near  by — a  little  way  up  the  gulch 
there." 

Something  in  the  dignity  of  his  manner  as 
he  made  the  proffer  of  hospitality,  some  re 
finement  of  inflection  in  his  tones,  caused  the 
listeners  to  look  with  new  curiosity  on  this 
roughly  dressed  man,  whose  face  was  almost 
hidden  beneath  the  thicket  of  beard.  They 
were  moved  by  a  sudden,  compelling  respect 
for  this  uncouth-appearing  dweller  in  the 
waste.  It  needed  but  2  glance  between  hus 
band  and  wife  to  ensure  their  acceptance  of 
the  invitation.  So,  presently,  the  three  rode 
on  together.  They  felt  a  certain  unusual 
kindliness  in  their  relation  as  host  and  guests. 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     177 

They  attributed  it,  as  far  as  they  thought  of 
the  matter  at  all,  to  the  peculiar  manner  of 
their  meeting.  .  .  .  They  could  not  guess  that 
strands  woven  by  the  Fates  had  caught  them 
in  a  mesh  for  the  final  right  weaving  of  a 
perfect  design. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

AFTER  the  horses  had  been  given  up 
and  sent  back,  Lou,  by  Dan's  arrange 
ment,  continued  the  journey  on  the  sled  of 
some  men  who  were  not  properly  of  the  stam- 
peders,  but  were  bound  for  Malamute.  Dan 
himself,  hardy  as  he  was,  had  no  difficulty  in 
keeping  up  the  pace  with  the  best  of  the  trav 
elers  on  foot.  He  carried  snow-shoes — for 
which  he  had  no  present  need  as  the  crust  held 
— and  a  light  pack  on  his  back.  The  others 
of  the  stampeders  regarded  him  as  one  of 
themselves,  without  ulterior  purpose  beyond 
the  legitimate  finding  of  gold  somewhere  in 
the  creek-beds,  or  within  the  ledges  of  the 
mountains.  Only  Lou  guessed  aught  of  the 
evil  project  cherished  by  her  husband.  She 
had  little  compunction,  for  her  sensibilities 
had  become  hardened  with  the  passage  of  the 
years,  and  she  had  long  ceased  to  regard  her- 

178 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     179 

self  as  in  any  wise  the  keeper  of  Dan's  con 
science. 

Dan  himself,  as  always,  had  no  scruples, 
though  he  meant  to  add  yet  another  to  the  list 
of  his  crimes.  He  went  warily  to  his  work. 
He  held  Sam  Ward  under  close  observation, 
but  so  discreetly  that  the  victim  of  his  watch 
fulness  had  no  hint  of  it.  As  the  train  strag 
gled  out  toward  nightfall,  Dan  contrived  to  be 
near  his  intended  victim,  though  not  in  com 
pany  with  him.  Because  of  the  information 
gathered  by  Lou,  that  the  miner  meant  to  steal 
away  from  the  others  during  the  night,  Dan 
gerous  Dan  had  determined  to  keep  a  vigil 
during  the  hours  of  darkness,  so  that,  when  the 
miner  slipped  away  by  stealth,  thinking  him 
self  unobserved  by  any  one,  he  would  be  able 
to  follow  as  stealthily,  and  thus  to  trace  the 
owner  to  the  secret  mine. 

To  one  of  Dangerous  Dan  McGrew's  ac 
complishments  the  task  was  very  simple. 
The  night  was  clear,  and  he  became  aware  at 
once  when  Sam  Ward  prepared  to  set  forth. 
He  allowed  the  miner  to  proceed  for  a  con- 


i8o    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

siderable  distance  before  following.  Against 
the  white  surface  of  the  snow,  the  moving 
form  was  distinguishable  for  a  long  way,  and, 
since  it  alone  in  the  expanse  moved  at  all,  it 
was  not  to  be  mistaken.  But,  while  the  miner 
was  so  distinctly  visible  to  his  pursuer,  Dan 
McGrew  had  little  fear  of  being  himself  ob 
served,  since  no  eyes  were  seeking  his  presence 
there.  So,  separated  by  a  considerable  dis 
tance,  the  two  men  advanced  through  the 
night,  ascending  at  a  smart  pace  from  the  level 
reaches  of  the  valley  to  the  lower  slopes  of  the 
mountains.  Here  the  spruce  cast  black 
shade,  and  often  gorges  lay  deep  in  shadow. 
Dan  was  forced  to  lessen  the  distance  between 
himself  and  the  one  he  followed.  Often,  he 
was  hard  put  to  it  to  keep  close  enough  on  his 
quarry  to  be  sure  of  the  man's  movements, 
without  revealing  his  own  presence  on  the 
trail.  Some  risks  he  took,  since  needs  must. 
But  the  danger  of  discovery  did  not  trouble 
Dangerous  Dan,  for  he  had  never  lacked 
courage,  whatever  his  other  vices. 

It  was  in  the  gray  of  the  dawn  when  at  last 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     181 

Sam  Ward  halted,  with  a  grunt  of  satisfac 
tion,  which  the  listening  man,  crouched  be 
hind  a  stump  fifty  yards  away,  plainly  heard 
through  the  motionless  chill  air.  The  miner 
cast  off  the  pack  that  he  had  carried  through 
out  most  of  the  day  and  all  of  the  night,  and 
began  hasty  preparations  for  pitching  camp. 
...  It  was  evident  that  Sam  Ward  had 
reached  his  destination. 

Assured  that  this  was  the  end  of  the  jour 
ney,  Dangerous  Dan  silently  withdrew  to  a 
sheltered  nook  within  the  trees,  a  full  quarter 
of  a  mile  from  the  other's  camp.  Here  he 
built  a  fire,  without  any  fear  of  its  light  being 
seen  by  Sam  Ward ;  for,  besides  the  screen  of 
trees,  a  high  ridge  intervened  between  the  two 
camps.  Dan,  owing  to  the  unusual  mildness 
of  the  night,  did  not  trouble  with  piling  green 
logs  against  which  to  stack  his  fire,  but  con 
tented  himself  with  selecting  a  spot  where  a 
steep  bank  at  his  back  aided  in  the  retention  of 
the  heat. 

Tired  as  he  was,  Dangerous  Dan  gathered 
sufficient  fuel  ready  at  hand,  so  that  he  might 


replenish  the  blaze,  arousing  instinctively 
from  sleep  as  the  flames  died  down.  He 
guessed  that  the  miner  would  sleep  late,  after 
the  fatigue  of  the  trip.  But  he  allowed  him 
self  only  two  hours  of  rest;  for  he  had  yet 
much  to  do,  and  weariness  must  await  leisure. 
Dan  McGrew  could  sacrifice  selfish  desires 
for  the  time  being  in  order  to  attain  to  selfish 
ends. 

The  sun  was  well  above  the  horizon,  when 
Dan  McGrew  at  last  arose  reluctantly,  and 
stamped  out  the  dying  embers.  He  rolled  up 
his  pack,  but  left  it  where  he  had  camped. 
He  carried  a  revolver  with  him,  but  he  had  no 
intention  of  using  it,  lest  the  report  attract 
the  attention  of  some  chance  prospector  in  the 
vicinity.  He  was  not  quite  sure,  even,  that  he 
meditated  violence — it  might  not  be  necessary. 
But,  before  setting  forth,  he  drew  from  its 
sheath,  hidden  within  his  bosom,  a  long, 
wicked-looking  knife,  the  blade  of  which  he 
examined  approvingly,  testing  its  edge  with  a 
bare  thumb.  When  he  had  returned  the 
weapon  to  its  place  of  concealment,  he  went 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     183 

forward  very  cautiously,  his  feet  leaving 
hardly  a  trace  of  their  passage  over  the  snow- 
crust.  He  took  advantage  of  the  shelter  af 
forded  by  bushes  and  trees,  so  that  his  ap 
proach  might  not  be  detected.  Thus,  he  came 
finally  to  a  vantage  point  behind  a  clump  of 
bushes,  which  grew  on  a  little  knoll.  Below 
this,  hardly  a  score  of  yards  away,  was  Sam 
Ward's  camp. 

The  miner  was  just  arousing  from  sleep, 
when  Dan  reached  this  point  of  observation. 
While  the  hidden  man  watched  attentively, 
Sam  Ward  replenished  the  fire,  and  hastily 
prepared  a  breakfast,  which  he  devoured  even 
more  hastily.  Forthwith,  then,  he  set  about 
the  serious  business  of  the  day.  To  the 
watcher's  surprise,  the  miner  removed  a  heap 
of  firewood,  which  had  been  stacked  against 
the  sloping  bank,  some  distance  above  a  tiny 
frozen  stream.  When  the  branches  had  been 
thrown  aside,  there  was  revealed  an  opening 
through  the  snow,  and  on  into  the  earth  itself. 
It  was  evident  that  the  miner  had  already  tun 
neled  into  the  ledge. 


1 84    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

Now,  he  got  dynamite  from  his  pack,  and 
set  it  carefully  where  it  might  thaw  out  within 
the  radius  of  heat  from  the  fire.  Thereafter, 
he  crawled  into  the  tunnel,  and  was  occupied 
out  of  the  watcher's  sight  for  some  time.  On 
emergence,  he  examined  the  dynamite,  and, 
satisfied  with  its  condition,  took  it,  along  with 
caps  and  fuse,  on  his  return  into  the  tunnel. 
This  time,  he  was  gone  for  only  a  short  inter 
val.  Presently,  came  a  dull  rumble  as  the  ex 
plosive  detonated  within  the  earth.  The 
miner  reentered  the  tunnel,  carrying  a  bag. 
When  he  brought  this  forth,  he  was  stagger 
ing  under  the  weight  it  contained. 

Dan  McGrew,  staring  down  with  hungry 
eyes,  saw  the  miner  pound  the  fragments  of 
rock  to  powder  in  a  roughly  contrived  mortar, 
which  was  set  beside  the  fire.  Dangerous 
Dan  had  learned  enough  of  gold-mining  to 
understand  that  the  miner  had  chanced  on  a 
quartz  lead  of  the  richest  sort.  Undoubtedly, 
it  was  a  vein  of  considerable  size  which  would 
assay  thousands  of  dollars  to  the  ton.  It  was 
free-milling  ore.  The  rough  method  em- 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     185 

ployed  by  the  miner  was  sufficient  to  secure  the 
golden  treasure.  Now,  when  he  had  made  an 
end  of  crushing  the  bits  of  rock,  Sam  de 
scended  to  the  creek,  where  he  chopped  a  hole 
through  the  ice,  and  so,  after  great  labor,  was 
able  to  winnow  the  dust.  Dan  McGrew  was 
able  to  see  the  golden  stream  of  tiny  flakes  that 
the  miner  at  last  poured  into  his  poke,  with 
chuckles  of  glee.  The  watcher's  steady  eyes 
narrowed  and  grew  savage,  for  black  envy 
and  avarice  filled  his  heart.  Of  a  sudden,  his 
vague  purpose  became  crystallized.  .  .  .  He 
would  have  this  mine  for  his  own — at  any  cost. 
Dangerous  Dan  looked  over  the  scene  care 
fully,  as  he  made  his  plans.  The  little  stream, 
above  which  the  miner  had  encamped,  ran 
straight  between  shallow  banks  out  into  a 
broad  valley  beyond.  Dan  was  sure  that  he 
could  advance  to  a  point  on  the  slope  where  he 
would  be  just  above  his  unsuspecting  prey. 
Thence,  he  could  drop  down  on  the  miner, 
who,  all  unconscious  of  any  peril,  squatted  be 
fore  the  fire  gloating  over  his  treasure.  A 
single  blow  of  the  knife  would  put  a  term  to 


1 86     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

his  ownership  of  the  mine.  Afterward,  it 
would  be  a  simple  matter  to  conceal  the  body 
in  some  cranny  where  only  the  wolves  would 
be  likely  to  scent  it  out.  And  Dan  McGrew 
would  have  the  treasure-house  for  his  own. 

His  decision  made,  Dan  acted  upon  it  at 
once.  It  came  about  according  to  his  calcula 
tions — with  two  exceptions: 

The  first  was  that,  as  he  leaped  upon  his  vic 
tim  from  behind,  some  faintest  sound  of  move 
ment,  or  some  subtle  instinct  in  the  victim, 
gave  warning.  Sam  Ward  sprang  to  his  feet, 
whirling  as  he  rose.  The  lust  of  gold  was  in 
him,  too.  On  the  instant,  he  understood  the 
death  that  threatened  and  the  cause  of  it.  He 
fought  for  his  life  and  his  gold  with  all  the 
strength  that  was  in  him.  He  got  his  hands 
to  his  assailant's  throat,  and  the  fingers 
clutched  in  a  clutch  meant  to  kill.  Dangerous 
Dan's  eyes  goggled  from  his  head  as  he 
strangled  within  that  grip.  But  he  did  not 
forget,  even  in  his  anguish,  either  his  purpose 
or  his  advantage.  He  thrust  the  knife  w^ith 
all  his  power  into  the  miner's  breast.  For  a 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     187 

second  that  seemed  to  endure  for  an  eternity, 
Dan  was  still  held  in  the  vice-like  grasp. 
Then  abruptly,  there  came  a  gurgling  moan 
from  Sam  Ward's  lips.  The  clenched  ringers 
relaxed.  Dan  thrust  the  form  of  his  adversary 
from  him.  The  haft  of  the  knife,  which  he 
still  held  in  his  right  hand,  was  broken  from 
the  blade  by  the  wrench  of  the  inert  body,  as 
it  fell  and  went  limply  sliding  down  the  slope 
toward  the  creek. 

Dan  McGrew  gazed  on  the  grim  descent 
with  eyes  that  were  dull  still  from  the  deadly 
grapple.  His  breath  came  in  sobs.  He  was 
triumphant,  but  he  realized  how  close  he  had 
been  to  failure. 

Then,  a  minute  later,  when  his  brain  and 
his  sight  were  clear  again,  he  suddenly  uttered 
a  frightful  curse.  .  .  . 

In  the  wide  expanse  of  the  valley  into  which 
the  creek  flowed,  a  sled  moved  rapidly,  as  the 
dogs  strained  in  their  harness.  And  it  was 
coming  straight  toward  the  creek — toward  the 
place  where  he  stood.  Dangerous  Dan 
McGrew  cursed  yet  once  again — and  more 


1 88     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

horribly.  Then,  he  leaped  down  the  slope  to 
where  the  dead  body  had  halted.  He  stooped 
over  it — searched  with  desperate  rapidity.  A 
moment  later,  with  the  poke  of  gold  and  a  few 
papers  from  the  dead  man,  Dangerous  Dan 
raced  back  up  the  bank,  and  on,  flying  from  the 
spot  where  he  had  committed  a  crime  so  great 
for  a  reward  so  small. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  bridal  pair  were  at  once  astonished 
and  gratified  by  the  entertainment  of 
fered  them  in  this  remote  wilderness.  There 
was  nothing  remarkable  in  their  surroundings 
at  the  cabin.  The  fare  provided  was  of  the 
simplest.  The  effect  on  the  two  visitors  was 
produced  wholly  by  the  personality  of  the 
man  himself.  As  the  men  sat  in  easy  com 
munion  over  their  pipes,  while  Nell  listened 
eagerly,  Jim  Maxwell,  still  under  the  influ 
ence  of  that  softer  feeling  aroused  by  gratitude 
to  the  two  who  had  rescued  him,  relaxed  from 
the  usual  aloofness  toward  his  fellows,  and 
talked  of  many  things  in  a  manner  of  singular 
charm.  Jack  Reeves  had  had  excellent  ad 
vantages  in  education,  before  ever  the  spirit  of 
adventure  drove  him  toward  the  Arctic.  As 

he  perceived  the  extent  of  the  older  man's  ex- 

189 


190     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

perience,  he  plied  his  host  with  questions. 
To  these,  Jim  responded  readily — at  first  from 
courtesy,  and  then,  moved  by  patent  interest 
on  the  part  of  his  hearers,  with  a  certain  en 
thusiasm.  He  found  a  long-forgotten  pleas 
ure  in  thus  speaking  at  ease  of  the  things  he 
felt  to  sympathetic  auditors.  In  the  years  of 
his  wandering  and  suffering,  the  man's  nature 
had  deepened  and  mellowed,  even  though  it 
was  shut  within  the  crust  of  bitterness.  So,  to 
night,  he  gave  himself  unreservedly  to  this 
new  mood  of  genial  intercourse.  He  mar 
veled  over  his  own  changed  mood,  but  in 
dulged  it  to  the  full,  nevertheless.  In  a  gen 
tle,  unfamiliar  fashion,  Jim  Maxwell  was 
almost  happy  to-night — almost  happy,  for  the 
first  time  in  twelve  years. 

Nell's  presence  moved  him  deeply,  though 
she  sat  silent  for  the  most  part.  Her  close  at 
tention  was  a  compliment  greater  than  any 
words  she  could  have  uttered.  Jim  Maxwell 
felt  this,  and  yielded  to  the  inspiration  of  it. 
He  was  by  no  means  unaware  of  the  piquant 
loveliness  of  the  girl.  His  critical  apprecia- 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     191; 

tion  was  betrayed  by  many  swift,  penetrating 
glances  at  the  rapt  face.  The  dusk,  lucent 
beauty  of  her  eyes  especially  appealed  to  him. 
In  them,  he  glimpsed  her  soul,  full  of  the  joy 
of  life,  a-thrill  with  expectation  of  the  happi 
ness  that  awaited,  pure  and  undaunted  by  any 
fear  of  evil.  As  he  looked  on  her,  Jim's  ad 
miring  gaze  was  always  a  little  wistful.  Since 
the  tragedy  in  his  life,  women  had  had  no  in 
terest  for  him,  because  he  had  lost  her  whom 
he  loved.  To-night,  somehow,  it  was  dif 
ferent.  He  felt  himself  strangely  drawn  to 
this  unknown  girl.  His  heart  stirred  toward 
her.  It  was  not  an  emotion  of  which  even  a 
bridegroom  could  complain — it  was  something 
utterly  untouched  by  any  instinct  of  sex,  some 
thing  subtle  and  exquisite.  Jim  himself  could 
not  understand  his  feeling  in  the  least.  Only, 
he  yielded  to  the  spell  of  it  with  delight. 

The  host  left  his  guests  in  possession,  when 
it  came  the  hour  for  retiring.  He  was  deaf  to 
their  remonstrances,  and  betook  himself  to  an 
outbuilding,  which  had  been  his  first  shelter 
in  this  place,  before  the  making  of  the  cabin. 


192     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

Left  alone  with  her  husband,  Nell  spoke 
musingly,  very  softly: 

"What  a  wonderful  man,  Jack!  He  is  the 
sort  of  man  I  should  like — "  She  broke  off, 
staring  with  vaguely  puzzled,  unseeing  eyes  at 
the  glowing  stove. 

"Now,  what  do  you  mean  by  that?"  the 
bridegroom  demanded,  with  asperity. 

Nell  aroused  from  introspection  at  the 
shortness  of  the  husband's  tone.  Then  she 
laughed. 

"Don't  be  absurd,  goosie!"  she  bantered. 
"I  actually  believe  you'd  like  to  be  jealous  of 
the  first  man  I've  met  on  our  honeymoon." 
Her  voice  softened.  "Well,  you  needn't  be. 
But  he  is  a  dear,  all  the  same." 

Something  in  her  tone  quelled  the  young 
husband's  impulse  of  alarm.  Straightway,  he 
spoke  his  own  admiration,  without  further 
jealousy. 

"He  sure  is  a  wonder,"  he  declared  emphat 
ically.  "He's  one  of  the  sort  who  could  make 
himself  at  home — and  make  himself  the 
center  of  attraction,  too — anywhere  around 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     193 

the  world,  with  high  or  low  or  Jack  or  the 
game." 

A  little  later,  he  spoke  again,  reflectively: 

"I  wonder  what  he  did!" 

"What  he  did!"  Nell  repeated,  bewildered. 

"Whether  he  robbed  a  bank,  or  just  mur 
dered  somebody,"  Jack  explained. 

Nell  flared. 

"He's  not  that  sort!"  she  flung  at  him. 
Then,  her  eyes  grew  dreamy  again. 

"But,"  she  added— and  there  was  a  note  of 
sympathetic  tenderness  in  her  voice— "perhaps 
it  was  something  that  somebody  else  did." 

"Eh?"  Jack  demanded,  perplexed  -*n  his 
turn. 

"I  mean,"  Nell   said,   half-apologetically, 
"perhaps  it  was  something— some  crime  even 
-some  one  else  did  that  made  Mr.  Maxwell 
come  away  off  here,  to  live  alone  in  the  moun 
tains.     A  man  like  him!" 

Next  morning,  Jack  and  Nell  went  on  their 
way,  almost  regretfully,  so  great  was  the  im 
pression  made  upon  both  by  this  man  whom 
they  had  rescued  from  death.  Still  without 


i94    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

haste,  Jack  drove  his  dogs  over  the  level  val 
ley-crust.  As  it  drew  toward  night,  he  se 
lected  for  his  camp  a  point  where  a  few 
stunted  spruce  grew  a  little  way  up  the  slope. 

"I  guess  we're  alone  in  our  glory,"  he  com 
mented,  as  his  eyes  swept  the  scene.  "Not  a 
stampeder  in  sight — and  I'm  glad  of  it.  You 
see,"  he  continued,  as  Nell  looked  at  him  in 
quiringly,  "I've  been  over  this  way  before. 
There's  a  creek  flows  in  here  from  the  other 
side  of  the  valley.  I  was  up  it  once.  It 
showed  some  prospects.  I'd  like  another  look 
at  it — without  any  stampeders  by.  And 
there's  not  a  one  in  sight." 

"I  wonder!"  While  Jack  went  to 
straighten  out  the  over-lively  dogs,  Nell  took 
the  field-glasses  from  their  case,  and  amused 
herself  with  a  careful  scrutiny  of  this  white 
world  over  which  now  lay  a  purpling  glamour 
as  the  sun  sank  wearily  below  the  horizon. 

Suddenly,  there  was  a  moving  blur,  a  fleet 
ing  black  shadow,  in  the  line  of  vision. 
Hitherto,  there  had  been  no  sign  of  life  any 
where.  This  trace  of  activity,  in  the  stillness 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     195 

of  the  snow-clad  wild,  interested  her,  even 
startled  her  a  little,  though  she  had  no  thought 
that  it  could  be  more  than  a  glimpse  of  some 
stampeder  plodding  through  the  distance. 

Nell  adjusted  the  glasses,  and  sought  again. 
Then,  in  a  flash,  she  saw  clearly — a  camp-fire 
burning,  a  man  squatted  close  to  the  flames. 
There  was  nothing  out  of  the  ordinary  in  the 
scene.  It  was  not  the  sight  of  camp-fire  and 
man  beside  it  that  caused  Nell's  cheek  to  pale, 
that  caused  her  hand  to  shake,  until  for  a 
moment  the  vision  was  blurred,  that  caused  the 
little  gasp  from  her  lips.  It  was  another  fig 
ure  thus  revealed  there  in  the  far  distance  that 
so  affected  her — another  figure  high  up  on  the 
slope,  which  moved  with  a  craftiness  and 
stealth  that  were  in  themselves  sinister.  These 
were  the  slinking  movements  of  a  beast  of  prey. 
But  the  figure  was  that  of  a  man. 

Nell  called  to  Jack — softly,  as  if  she  feared 
lest,  across  the  valley-space,  that  skulking  man 
might  hear  her  cry. 

When  Jack  came  to  her,  Nell  put  the  glasses 
in  his  hands. 


196    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

"Look  there!"  she  directed,  and  pointed. 
Afterward,  she  sat  tensed  and  apprehensive  in 
her  place  on  the  sled,  while  her  husband  stood 
at  her  side,  and  looked  as  she  had  bidden  him. 

An  ejaculation  burst  from  Jack  as  his  eyes 
caught  the  action  in  that  drama  across  the  val 
ley.  Through  a  long  minute,  and  another, 
he  rested  rigid,  silent.  Suddenly,  with  an 
imprecation,  he  tossed  the  glasses  toward  Nell. 
He  pointed  desperately  across  the  valley,  then 
sprang  to  the  dogs,  and  straightened  them  out, 
his  voice  so  harsh  that  they  cringed  under  it. 

"Mush!"  he  yelled  savagely,  and  the  whip 
lash  hissed  its  message  to  the  leaders.  .  .  . 
They  were  off  at  full  speed. 

"Too  late!"  Jack  groaned,  as  the  dogs 
bounded  forward.  "Oh,  damn  him!  I  hope 
he  hangs  for  it — the  dirty  murderer!" 

It  was,  indeed,  too  late.  When  they  were 
come  up  the  lesser  valley,  through  which  the 
creek  ran,  to  a  point  near  where  the  body  of 
Sam  Ward  was  lying,  Jack  halted  the  dogs, 
and  went  forward  alone.  He  would  not 
yield  to  Nell's  pleadings  that  she  be  allowed 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     197 

to  accompany  him.  He  was  not  minded  that 
she  should  thus  look  on  the  assassin's  victim. 

Jack  returned  very  soon. 

"Dead  as  a  door-nail !"  he  said  shortly.  His 
face  was  a  little  pale  under  the  bronze  of 
open-air  living.  "A  knife-blade  in  his  chest 
—handle  broken  off.  We've  seen  the  chap. 
It  was  Sam  Ward.  Had  a  secret  mine,  they 
said." 

Jack  chose  a  camp-site  close  at  hand,  to 
which  he  removed  the  body  of  the  murdered 
man,  so  that  it  would  be  protected  from  any 
prowling  wolf.  He  brought  down  to  his 
camp  the  dead  man's  pack,  and  he  covered  the 
still  and  rigid  shape  decently  with  one  of  the 
blankets  that  had  been  Sam  Ward's.  He 
made  no  attempt  to  trace  the  assassin.  To 
have  done  so  would  have  been  useless  in  it 
self,  and  would  have  been  to  risk  the  like 
death.  Nor  did  he  make  even  a  cursory 
se?~ch  for  the  secret  mine.  He  had  no  wish 
for  personal  profit  out  of  this  grewsome  event. 
On  the  contrary,  he  was  willing  to  delay  his 
operations  in  the  mountains,  in  order  that  he 


i98     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

might  deliver  the  corpse  to  the  authorities,  and 
make  known  to  them  the  facts  in  the  case. 

"We'll  put  him  on  the  sled  in  the  morning," 
he  said  to  Nell,  who  was  very  quiet,  and  who 
turned  her  eyes  from  time  to  time  fearfully 
toward  a  place  just  on  the  edge  of  the  fire 
light,  where  flickering  shadows  danced  gro 
tesquely  over  a  deeper  shadow — a  shadow 
huge  and  misshapen  and  menacing. 

"We'll  take  him  up  to  Kalmak.  It's  a  lit 
tle  place  on  the  way  to  Malamute.  But  they 
have  a  sheriff,  and  that's  what  we  need." 

And  neither  he  nor  his  wife,  who  looked 
from  time  to  time  affrightedly  toward  the 
shadows,  had  any  hint  as  to  the  irony  that  the 
Fates  had  put  into  the  husband's  concluding 
words. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

DAN  McGREW,  from  a  point  of  safe 
concealment,  watched  the  coming  of 
the  sled  with  keen  interest.  He  was  still  fu 
rious  over  the  miscarriage  in  his  plans  caused 
by  this  arrival.  There  was  no  longer  possi 
bility  of  his  holding  the  secret  of  the  mine  for 
himself.  In  return  for  the  blood  on  his  hands, 
he  had  gained  a  single  poke  of  gold-dust. 
His  chief  concern  now  was  the  evading  of 
any  possible  suspicion  against  himself.  His 
thoughts  were  busy  with  this  problem  of 
safety.  At  his  distance,  and  in  the  darkening 
light,  he  could  not  make  out  the  identity  of 
the  man  who  examined  the  body  of  Sam  Ward, 
and  afterward  removed  it.  Since  Nell  did 
not  leave  the  sled,  he  did  not  guess  even  that 
one  of  the  two  was  a  woman.  But  it  did  oc 
cur  to  him  that,  since  the  arrival  of  these  per 
sons  had  thwarted  his  evil  hopes,  it  would  be 

199 


200    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

fitting  that  they  themselves  should  serve  his 
need  as  the  scape-goats  of  suspicion. 

Once  this  idea  had  stirred  in  his  brain,  Dan 
gerous  Dan  found  little  difficulty  in  planning 
the  accomplishment  of  his  designs.  He  re 
mained  in  hiding,  without  venturing  even  to 
light  a  fire  though  he  was  hard  put  to  it  to 
resist  the  numbing  cold.  It  was  not  till  some 
hours  after  nightfall,  when  he  judged  the  two 
in  their  camp  safely  asleep,  that  Dangerous 
Dan  acted  on  the  plan  he  had  formed. 

He  crept  with  the  utmost  caution  down  the 
slope,  and  made  a  wide  detour,  so  as  to  come 
near  the  camp  to  windward  of  the  point  where 
he  heard  the  little  yelps  and  whinings  of  dogs 
restless  in  their  sleep.  The  night  was  clear, 
and,  even  within  the  shadows  of  the  trees 
about  the  camp,  Dan  could  see  distinctly 
where  the  sled  stood  outside  the  limit  of  the 
firelight.  Toward  this,  with  increased  care 
and  slowness  in  the  progress,  Dan  made  his 
way. 

He  had  almost  reached  the  sled,  when  he 
stumbled  over  what  he  had  deemed  merely  a 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     201 

deeper  shadow  beside  it,  and  sprawled  for 
ward.  To  save  himself  from  falling,  he 
thrust  out  his  right  hand.  The  palm  touched 
something  cold — with  a  coldness  beyond  that 
of  the  arctic  air.  It  was  the  face  of  the  man 
whom  he  had  slain,  from  off  which  his  rough 
contact  had  thrust  the  blanket.  And  Dan 
McGrew  knew  the  thing  for  what  it  was. 

Strong  man  that  he  was,  he  was  sickened. 
For  a  little,  he  stood  there  shivering,  unnerved 
by  the  grisly  encounter.  But  it  was  only  the 
shock  that  had  unmanned  him.  Presently, 
his  courage  rose  again.  He  grinned  to  him 
self,  standing  there  in  the  dark  over  the  dead 
body.  Here  was  nothing  to  be  afraid  of,  he 
said  to  himself  in  brutal  disdain  of  his  own 
weakness.  So,  soon,  he  went  on  again,  quite 
undismayed,  to  carry  out  his  purpose. 

Noiselessly,  Dangerous  Dan  fumbled  over 
the  pack  on  the  sled  for  some  minutes.  Once, 
he  put  a  hand  in  his  pocket,  and  drew  forth 
something,  which  he  disposed  within  the 
wrappings  of  the  pack.  Finally,  he  read 
justed  everything,  as  nearly  as  he  could  by  the 


202     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

sense  of  touch,  to  the  condition  in  which  he 
had  found  it.  Only,  there  was  something 
added  to  the  contents.  For  once  in  his  life, 
Dangerous  Dan  had  not  been  a  robber.  Yet, 
never  had  his  intent  been  more  deadly. 

His  task  thus  accomplished,  the  man  with 
drew  as  silently  as  he  had  come.  Neverthe 
less,  despite  his  bravado,  he  was  at  pains  to 
tread  aside,  lest  he  brush  a  second  time  against 
that  blanketed  form. 

Jack  and  Nell  were  up  and  away  early. 
They  made  good  speed  with  the  grewsome 
burden  on  the  sled.  They  ran  easily  without 
snow-shoes,  for  the  crust  still  held.  Jack 
was  distressed  that  his  bride  should  be  un 
able  to  ride  luxuriously  on  their  honeymoon. 
But  for  this  Nell  cared  not  at  all.  In  her 
youth  and  perfect  health,  the  physical  ac 
tivity  was,  in  truth,  a  pleasure,  rather  than  a 
toil.  But  she  was  disturbed  by  the  presence 
of  that  grim  thing  which  they  escorted.  She 
could  not  avoid  yielding  in  some  measure  to 
superstition.  The  radiant  joy  of  her  bridal 


203 

was  quenched  by  this  tragedy  that  had  fol 
lowed  so  close  upon  it,  and  into  association 
with  which  they  had  been  forced  by  circum 
stance.  Her  mood  was  oppressed  with  fore 
bodings.  She  was  all  anxiety  to  reach  Kalmak, 
where  they  might  be  rid  of  this  ill-omened 
clay.  So,  she  urged  Jack  often  to  increase  the 
pace.  And  he,  for  his  part,  hardly  less  sensi 
tive  to  this  malignant  influence  at  such  a  time, 
consented  readily  enough,  hurrying  on  the 
dogs  with  whip  and  voice.  .  .  .  The  train 
swung  into  Kalmak  in  mid-afternoon — at  least 
an  hour  sooner  than  it  would  have  made  the 
distance  with  a  lighter  load. 

Jack  halted  the  dogs  before  the  very  unpre 
tentious  structure  that  was  inappropriately 
designated  the  Grand  Hotel.  At  sound  of  the 
arrival,  those  within  hurried  forth,  eager  for 
any  interruption  of  the  day's  monotony. 
Among  the  others  came  a  tall,  lank  man,  with 
a  lantern-jawed  face  and  a  drooping,  melan 
choly  mustache,  whom  Jack  recognized  as  Hal 
Owens,  the  sheriff.  He  himself,  however, 
was  not  known  to  Owens,  or  to  any  of  those 


204    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

present,  nor  was  Nell,  as  they  were  speedily 
to  learn  to  their  sorrow.  Another  face  in  the 
group  was  vaguely  familiar  to  both  the  young 
husband  and  his  bride.  Jack,  for  the  mo 
ment,  could  not  recall  where  he  had  seen  this 
stalwart,  handsome  man,  who  stood  with  a 
masterful  erectness,  emphasized  by  his  frank 
and  fearless  gaze.  But  Nell,  in  the  instant  of 
seeing  the  stranger,  recollected  him  perfectly, 
though  she  had  seen  him  but  once  in  a  fleet 
ing  glance.  She  remembered  how  he  had  ap 
peared  on  her  wedding-day,  and  how  he  had 
regarded  her  with  that  cynical  smile,  which 
had  aroused  in  her  an  inexplicable  sense  of 
dismay,  a  fear  of  mysterious  disasters,  past 
or  to  come.  It  seemed  to  her  appropriate 
enough  that  now  this  man  should  be  present  to 
welcome  her  and  her  husband  as  they  brought 
in  their  ghastly  load.  Again,  she  experienced 
a  curious  repugnance  in  meeting  the  steady 
stare  that  seemed  to  probe  into  her  soul  with 
a  mocking  amusement.  Nell  wrenched  her 
eyes  from  his,  and  turned  away  with  a  little 
shudder  of  revulsion.  Then,  the  natural 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     205 

buoyancy  of  her  spirits  asserted  itself.  After 
all,  this  man,  who  affected  her  so  strangely, 
was  nothing  to  them — could  be  nothing  to 
them.  And  they  were  at  last  free  of  the  hor 
rible  incubus  that  had  been  thrust  upon  them. 
The  dead  body  was  now  gone  out  of  their 
charge,  was  become  the  property  of  the  law. 
She  smiled,  a  little  wanly,  while  her  eyes 
moved  over  the  roughly  garbed  cluster  of  men. 
She  was  glad — oh,  so  glad ! — that  miserable  in 
terruption  of  their  honeymoon  was  done  and 
over. 

Jack  addressed  the  sheriff  briskly,  himself 
almost  as  anxious  as  Nell  to  have  done  with 
this  wretched  matter. 

"This  is  your  business,  Sheriff.  I've 
brought  in  the  body  of  a  chap  who  got  killed 
out  Forgotten  Creek  way,  yesterday  after 
noon." 

The  sheriff  nodded  with  what  he  took  to  be 
the  dignity  befitting  his  authority. 

"The  coroner  should  set  on  the  corpse,"  he 
said  gravely,  pleased  at  this  display  of  his  fa 
miliarity  with  legal  phrases.  "In  his  absence 


206     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

— bein'  there  hain't  none — I  reckon  I'll  do  the 
best  I  kin." 

He  strode  to  the  sled,  and  pulled  aside  the 
blanket  that  had  concealed  the  dead  man's 
face.  He  turned  to  the  men  who  had  crowded 
around. 

" Anybody  know  him?"  he  demanded,  au 
thoritatively. 

There  was  a  chorus  of  grunts  in  negation. 

Then,  as  the  others  fell  silent,  Jack  spoke 
again: 

"I  knew  him  by  sight,  though  I  never  spoke 
to  him.  His  name  was  Sam  Ward.  They 
said  he'd  struck  it  rich — a  secret  mine  some 
where  in  the  mountains." 

"Know  anything  more  about  him?"  The 
sheriff's  voice  was  heavy  with  responsibility. 

Jack  made  an  impatient  gesture. 

"He  was  in  the  stampede  that  came  up  to 
Forgotten  Creek  day  before  yesterday.  You 
know?" 

"I  know,"  the  sheriff  assented.  "What  else 
do  you  know?" 

"I  know  he's  dead,"  Jack  snapped.     He  was 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     207 

heartily  sick  of  this  business,  and  his  temper 
grew  strained.  "If  you  have  any  doubt  about 
it,"  he  added  sarcastically,  "why,  I  saw  him 
killed." 

There  was  a  general  start  of  surprise  over 
this  bald  announcement.  The  sheriff,  how 
ever,  preserved  his  official  composure. 

"That  ought  to  help  some,"  was  his  response. 
"Supposing  now,  you  fire  ahead,  an'  tell  all 
you  know  about  this  corpse  o'  your'n." 

"No  corpse  of  mine!"  Jack  retorted  gruffly, 
more  than  ever  annoyed,  while  Nell  felt  a 
qualm  of  new  dread  at  the  sheriff's  ambiguous 
words.  But  Jack  curbed  his  impatience,  and 
related  in  detail  what  he  knew  concerning  the 
incidents  of  the  tragedy. 

His  hearers  listened  intently.  There  were 
features  in  this  murder  that  gave  it  a  certain 
distinction.  The  fact  that  it  had  been  wit 
nessed  from  such  a  distance  through  the  field- 
glasses  gave  it  a  charm  of  novelty  that  a  mere 
murder  must  otherwise  have  lacked.  The 
men,  who  had  hitherto  been  stealing  many  a 
sly  glance  toward  the  young  woman  with  the 


208     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

dainty  face  and  glowing  eyes,  now  stared  at 
her  with  open  admiration  for  the  one  who  had 
first  seen  the  assassin's  advance  upon  his  vic 
tim,  and  had  guessed  his  deadly  purpose.  All 
those  present  accepted  the  truth  of  the  narra 
tive  without  question.  The  young  man's 
frank  expression  and  the  simplicity  of  his 
story,  strange  as  it  was,  carried  conviction. 
Moreover,  it  was  well-nigh  impossible  to  sus 
pect  this  beautiful  girl  of  any  complicity  in 
crime.  So,  the  account  was  accepted  by  all 
hearers  as  truth,  and  it  occurred  to  none  even 
to  question  it.  ...  To  none,  save  one.  And 
that  one  was  he  who,  of  his  own  knowledge, 
best  knew  that  it  was  truth.  Yet,  he  would 
question,  and  to  some  purpose — for  his  own 
safety's  sake. 

The  formalities  of  the  occasion  thus  fully 
satisfied,  the  sheriff  ordered  the  corpse  re 
moved  to  a  back  room  in  the  hotel,  where  it 
was  laid  out  on  the  table.  Before  replacing 
the  blanket,  the  sheriff  withdrew  the  blade  of 
the  knife  from  the  dead  man's  breast. 

"It's  a  clew,"  he  explained,  with  obvious 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     209 

admiration  for  his  own  sagacity,  as  he  wiped 
the  blackened  blood  from  the  blade  upon  the 
blanket. 

Dan  McGrew  had  followed  the  four  men 
who,  at  the  sheriff's  direction,  carried  the  body 
into  the  hotel.  He  was  known  here,  as 
through  most  of  the  region  round  about, 
where  he  was  regarded  as  an  honest  gam 
bler — for  his  methods  had  improved  in  the 
twelve  years  since  his  discomfiture  by  Fingie 
Whalen. 

To  be  here  at  this  time,  Dangerous  Dan 
McGrew  had  employed  the  resources  of  both 
mind  and  body.  His  reasoning  had  con 
vinced  him  that  Kalmak  would  be  Jack's  des 
tination  in  the  trip.  He  had  been  obliged  to 
risk  the  correctness  of  this  conclusion  in  order 
that  he  might  be  free  to  start  for  the  village 
at  once,  after  completing  his  night-visit  to  the 
young  man's  camp.  Since  he  must  travel  on 
foot,  and  slowly  because  of  increasing  fatigue, 
he  had  need  of  all  the  time  he  could  gain  for 
the  journey,  in  order  to  reach  the  scene  first. 
He  had  succeeded.  Even,  he  had  had  time 


210    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

for  an  hour's  sleep,  which  was  craved  by  every 
atom  in  his  body  after  a  day  and  two  nights 
of  almost  constant  exertion. 

So,  now,  Dan  McGrew  was  on  the  spot, 
alert  and  arrogant  with  evil  purpose.  He 
stepped  close  to  the  sheriff,  and  spoke  so  that 
the  others  could  not  overhear.  He  knew  the 
harmless  vanity  of  the  official,  and  meant  to 
play  upon  it  for  his  own  ends,  by  letting  the 
other  take  credit  on  himself  for  great  shrewd 
ness. 

"You  think  that  youngster's  story  is  a  bit 
fishy,  I  see!"  Dan  remarked;  and  there  was 
deep  admiration  in  his  voice. 

The  sheriff,  who  had  thought  nothing  of  the 
sort,  immediately  assumed  an  air  of  suspicion, 
and  nodded  assent. 

"Fishy — very!"  he  agreed. 

"Of  course,"  Dan  continued  deprecatingly, 
as  if  even  to  question  this  were  an  imperti 
nence  on  his  part,  "you'll  search  that  young 
man's  pack?" 

The  sheriff  nodded  glumly. 

"It's  my  sworn  duty  to  do  jest  that." 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     211 

Dan  sauntered  away,  well  content.  He 
went  out  of  the  hotel,  and  stood  unobtrusively 
among  the  other  idlers,  watching  while  Jack 
and  Nell,  restored  to  the  best  of  spirits  by  the 
completion  of  their  unpleasant  duty,  were  now 
laughing  and  chatting  together  as  they  busied 
themselves  about  the  sled. 

Presently  appeared  the  sheriff.  He  ap 
proached  the  sled,  and  spoke  with  a  harshness 
he  had  not  hitherto  displayed. 

"Young  feller,  I'll  jest  take  a  look  through 
your  pack." 

Jack  and  Nell  glanced  up  in  amazement  at 
the  tone  no  less  than  at  the  words. 

"But  what — what  the  devil  do  you  mean?" 
Jack  demanded,  wrathfully. 

"Never  you  mind  what  I  mean,  young  fel 
ler,"  was  the  offended  retort.  The  sheriff 
threw  back  the  lapel  of  the  heavy  outer  coat 
he  wore,  and  showed  a  silver  shield.  "There's 
my  authority,"  he  sternly  announced.  "I'll 
jest  take  a  squint  through  your  belonging." 

Jack  and  Nell  protested,  but  their  protests 
were  in  vain.  The  sheriff  in  explanation 


vouchsafed  only  a  single  word,  most  contemp 
tuously  uttered : 

"Fishy!" 

In  the  end,  the  young  pair  stood  by  in  mute 
indignation,  while  the  official  search  was 
prosecuted.  .  .  .  They  had  one  consolation  in 
the  presence  of  this  outrage:  The  search 
would  prove  its  own  absurdity. 

The  issue  came  on  them  like  a  thunderbolt. 
From  somewhere  in  the  pack,  the  sheriff's 
groping  fingers  drew  forth  an  object,  which  he 
held  up  that  all  might  see.  It  was  undoubt 
edly  the  bone  handle  of  a  large  knife.  With 
out  a  word,  the  sheriff  reached  into  a  pocket 
of  his  coat,  and  brought  forth  the  blade  which 
had  been  in  the  dead  man's  breast.  Still  with 
out  a  word,  while  all  looked  on  in  breathless 
tension,  he  put  blade  and  haft  together.  They 
fitted  perfectly. 

The  sheriff's  mouth,  under  the  drooping 
mustache,  twisted  in  a  triumphant  grin.  An 
amazed  consternation  held  Jack  and  Nell  si 
lent  for  the  moment  in  the  face  of  this  damn 
ing  evidence  against  them.  The  sheriff 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     213 

moved  forward  a  step,  and  laid  his  hand  on 
Jack's  shoulder. 

"Young  feller,"  he  said  heavily,  "I  arrest 
you  in  the  name  of  the  law,  for  the  murder 
of  Sam  Ward,  deceased.  And  don't  say  any- 
thin',"  he  added,  in  paraphrase  of  the  legal 
formula,  "for  what  you  say  will  be  used  agin 
ye." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  catastrophe  that  had  thus  put  an  end 
to  the  honeymoon,  drove  the  unfor 
tunate  husband  and  wife  almost  to  despair. 
The  thing  was  monstrous,  incredible.  Never 
theless,  it  had  occurred.  Jack  raged  against 
the  unjust  accusation  which  Dan  McGrew 
had  caused  to  be  laid  against  him;  but  neither 
his  wrath  nor  his  entreaties  were  powerful 
enough  to  create  even  a  doubt  on  the  part  of 
the  public  of  Kalmak  as  to  his  guilt.  The 
evidence  against  him  was,  in  fact,  incontro 
vertible.  His  case  was  made  the  worse,  also, 
by  the  absence  of  any  one  who  could  vouch  for 
his  character.  Given  time,  he  could  easily 
enough  summon  witnesses  in  his  behalf, 
though  even  then  the  issue  might  be  uncertain. 
He  had  no  plausible  explanation  to  offer  con 
cerning  the  presence  of  the  knife-handle 
among  his  effects.  He  could  only  deny  all 

214 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  BAN  McGREW     215 

knowledge  of  how  it  came  there.  And  such 
denial  was  utterly  valueless,  as  Jack  himself 
realized  with  utter  discouragement. 

As  for  Nell,  there  was  only  a  single  thing 
to  mitigate  her  misery,  and  of  this  she  was 
hardly  conscious.  It  was  that  she  herself  was 
not  subjected  to  the  indignity  of  arrest.  In 
this  matter,  the  chivalry  of  the  community 
worked  in  her  behalf.  These  men  of  the 
Northland  were  not  of  a  sort  to  war  against 
women.  They  left  such  warfare  to  a  more 
complex  state  of  civilization. 

But,  in  truth,  no  arrest  was  needed  for  the 
unhappy  bride.  Nothing  could  have  tempted 
her  to  leave  the  place  where  her  husband  was 
in  peril.  Indeed,  she  was  like  a  thorn  in  the 
side  of  the  sheriff's  ideas  concerning  official 
strictness  and  decorum — and  rose  as  well  as 
thorn;  for  the  winsome  loveliness  of  this  suf 
fering  girl  disturbed  him  greatly,  so  that  he 
was  fain  to  grant  her  privileges  which  ill  ac 
corded  with  his  conception  of  official  etiquette. 
It  was  owing  to  this  laxness  under  Nell's  per 
suasion  that  she  was  permitted  to  interview 


216    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

her  husband,  though  separated  from  him  by 
the  heavy  grating  in  the  cell-door,  and  though 
fretted  by  the  presence  of  the  sheriff  himself, 
who  sat  within  ear-shot,  and  forbade  secret 
communication.  .  .  .  Those  interviews  har 
rowed  the  souls  of  the  lovers,  for,  though  each 
strove  to  cheer  the  other,  neither  could  under 
stand  how  this  calamity  had  come  to  pass. 
Nell  occupied  the  intervals  between  visits  to 
her  husband  in  frantic  efforts  to  devise  some 
means  of  proving  Jack's  innocence,  or  in  piti 
able  weeping,  shut  within  her  squalid  hotel- 
room. 

It  was  in  the  forenoon  of  the  day  following 
his  arrest  that  the  prisoner  had  his  first  glim 
mer  of  hope.  It  came  to  him  while  he  was 
surveying  for  the  thousandth  time  the  roughly- 
hewn  timbers  that  made  the  walls  of  his  cell. 
He  had  long  ago  admitted  the  uselessness  of 
trying  to  break  out,  inasmuch  as  he  had  not 
even  a  penknife  with  which  to  work.  Yet, 
now,  as  his  glance  roved  the  tiny  room,  his 
eyes  lighted  with  hope. 

Forthwith,    Jack    began    plotting    escape. 


WAS     PKR.VITTF.l)     TO     INTERVIEW     HKR     HUSBAND. 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     217 

He  understood  that  his  situation  was  most  des 
perate.  The  sheriff,  who  from  pride  in  his 
office  had  added  the  cell  to  his  log-house  at 
his  own  expense,  was  fond  of  sitting  on  guard 
in  the  adjoining  room;  not  so  much  for  the 
sake  of  precaution  against  the  prisoner's  es 
cape,  as  for  pleasure  in  receiving  visitors,  in 
the  full  majesty  of  his  office.  And  Jack  had 
heard  some  of  the  low-spoken  remarks  of  the 
visitors  among  themselves.  He  knew  that 
these  men  of  primitive  emotions  looked  upon 
him  as  a  murderer,  and  were  disposed  to  end 
the  affair  in  a  lynching-bee.  Only  the  sheriff 
interposed  between  him  and  such  a  fate,  and 
the  man  was  by  no  means  strong  enough  to 
stand  against  a  mob.  Therefore,  Jack  was 
convinced  that  the  only  possibility  of  safety 
lay  in  flight.  And  that  flight  must  be  made  at 
once,  or  it  would  be  too  late. 

Little  by  little,  the  details  of  a  plan  were 
evolved.  He  went  over  the  matter  with  every 
care,  knowing  well  that  he  risked  his  life  on 
the  accuracy  of  each  detail  in  his  device. 
Some  ideas  he  rejected;  others,  after  much 


testing  and  readjustment,  were  approved.  In 
the  end,  he  became  confident  that  his  method 
might  win  success — confident  that  it  would. 

His  preparations  thus  complete  up  to  the 
point  of  action,  the  prisoner  did  not  delay  the 
action  itself.  For  that  matter,  the  opportu 
nity  he  desired  at  the  outset  was  offered  to  him 
almost  immediately  after  he  had  decided  upon 
his  course. 

The  sheriff,  who  was  a  kindly  soul,  apart 
from  the  sternness  compelled  by  his  ideas  of 
high  office,  repeated  a  favor  he  had  already 
shown  the  prisoner,  by  coming  to  the  grating, 
and  thrusting  forward  a  cigar. 

"Smoke  up,  young  feller,"  he  said. 

Jack  took  the  cigar  with  due  expressions 
of  gratitude,  and  he  was  at  pains  to  conceal 
the  new  hopeful  eagerness  that  filled  him. 

"And  here's  the  match,  young  feller,"  the 
sheriff  continued,  as  he  held  it  forth.  It  was 
one  of  the  regulations  formulated  by  himself 
that  the  inmates  of  the  jail  should  not  be  al 
lowed  possession  of  matches. 

Of  that  regulation,  Jack  was  already  aware, 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     219 

and  to  secure  its  evasion,  he  now  acted.  As 
the  sheriff  turned  away,  in  pursuance  of  his 
principle  of  not  encouraging  familiarity  on 
the  part  of  a  prisoner,  Jack  tossed  the  match 
to  the  floor,  where  it  lay  invisible  in  the  light 
which  shone  in  from  the  other  room.  Then 
he  addressed  the  sheriff,  with  becoming  hu 
mility. 

"I'm  sorry,  Sheriff,  but  the  match  went  out." 
Dan  McGrew,  in  the  sheriff's  place,  would 
have  demanded  the  return  of  that  match.  In 
stead,  the  official  turned  back  promptly,  and 
gave  another,  with  which  the  prisoner  suc 
ceeded  in  lighting  his  cigar.  The  sheriff, 
seated  at  his  table,  could  not  see  the  captive, 
who  stooped  and  picked  up  from  the  floor  the 
first  match,  and  put  it  away  in  his  pocket  with 
extraordinary  care. 

Thereafter,  still  careful  to  escape  observa 
tion  by  the  sheriff,  Jack  got  out  a  stub  of  pen 
cil  which  he  had  been  allowed  to  retain.  He 
secured  a  small  fragment  of  paper  from  the 
untidy  litter  on  the  floor  of  the  cell.  Then, 
he  hastily  scribbled  a  brief  note.  This  was 


220    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

rolled  up  into  a  tiny  cylinder  with  the  writing 
on  the  inner  side.  By  liberal  moistening  with 
his  tongue  he  managed  to  make  the  roll  retain 
its  shape.  Having  accomplished  all  he  could 
for  the  time  being,  the  prisoner,  with  the  cylin 
der  in  his  pocket,  awaited  the  coming  of  Nell. 

The  wife's  advent  was  not  long  delayed. 
Within  the  hour,  the  girl  appeared  before  the 
sheriff,  softly  appealing  in  voice,  more  softly 
appealing  in  the  gaze  of  her  misty  eyes.  The 
official  strove  to  frown,  but  only  succeeded  in 
smirking  shamefacedly. 

"I  suppose  it  can't  do  any  harm  to  let  you 
chin  a  little,"  he  said  grudgingly.  "But  re 
member  now,"  he  added,  shaking  a  warning 
finger  at  the  visitor,  "no  whispering,  an'  keep 
your  hands  in  plain  sight  all  the  time.  An' 
I'll  have  my  eyes  on  you,  you  bet!" 

With  a  murmur  of  thanks,  Nell  went  for 
ward  to  the  grating,  where  she  stood  with  her 
hands  duly  exposed  against  the  metal  bars. 
Husband  and  wife  exchanged  greetings  as 
best  they  could,  thus  forced  to  speak  aloud  so 
that  the  sheriff  could  hear  every  word.  Yet, 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     221 

without  anything  said  to  warrant  it,  Nell  knew 
instantly  that  her  husband's  mood  had 
changed.  There  was  a  light  in  his  eyes,  a 
smile  on  his  lips.  And,  too,  he  nodded  almost 
imperceptibly,  very  mysteriously.  Nell  felt 
her  own  spirits  rise  in  response.  They  spoke 
of  sending  to  Malamute  for  a  lawyer.  They 
spoke  of  securing  proof  against  the  actual 
murderer — at  which  the  sheriff  smiled. 

But  the  sheriff,  though  he  listened  so  in 
tently,  did  not  watch  with  equal  closeness. 
He  glanced  over  some  of  the  papers  lying  be 
fore  him. 

It  was  Jack  who  watched  carefully,  for 
much  was  now  at  stake.  As  he  saw  the  sher 
iff's  gaze  averted,  he  parted  his  lips,  and  with 
his  tongue  pushed  forward  the  tiny  cylinder 
of  paper,  which  on  the  instant  of  Nell's  ar 
rival,  he  had  placed  in  his  mouth. 

The  wife  perceived  the  protruding  roll  in 
astonishment.  Jack  moved  his  head  forward, 
puckering  his  lips  as  for  a  kiss.  Nell  under 
stood.  She  turned  instinctively.  The  sher 
iff's  eyes  were  still  on  his  papers.  At  once, 


then,  the  girl  put  her  own  lips  to  the  opening 
in  the  grating,  where  Jack's  waited.  The 
mouths  of  the  two  met  in  a  kiss  that  lingered. 
The  sheriff  looked  up,  and  saw  the  kiss.  He 
noted  that  the  hands  of  the  two  were  duly  ex 
posed,  as  required  by  the  regulation  in  such 
case  made  and  provided. 

Nell  took  her  departure  forthwith.  Her 
murmur  of  thanks  to  the  sheriff  for  his  kind 
ness  was  a  trifle  indistinct.  That  excellent  of 
ficer  observed  the  fact.  Also,  he  was  inclined 
to  believe  that  the  unfortunate  young  woman 
appeared  somewhat  cheered  by  her  visit  to  the 
murderer — though  what  there  could  be  cheer 
ing  in  such  a  situation,  the  sheriff  could  not 
guess. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

IN  the  solitude  of  her  bleak  chamber,  Nell 
hastened  to  take  from  her  mouth  the  cyl 
inder  of  paper  that  Jack  had  given  her. 
Moist  as  it  was,  when  unrolled  it  lay  flat,  and 
the  writing  on  the  inner  side  was  decipherable 
without  difficulty. 

The  note  lacked  address  or  signature,  since 
neither  was  needed.  But  the  curt  words  rilled 
Nell  with  rapture: 

Have  found  way  to  escape.  Go  to  Max 
well,  ask  him  for  help.  Have  him  some 
where  near  the  village  on  his  side  by  eleven 
o'clock  to-night. 

With  the  reading,  Nell  took  new  heart  of 
hope.  She  could  not  guess  the  means  that 
her  husband  had  devised  for  his  escape  from 
the  jail,  but  the  confident  tone  in  which  he 

had  written  to  her  gave  promise  of  success. 

223 


224    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

Her  own  part  in  the  plan  was  simple  enough. 
It  only  required  that  she  act  promptly  in  its 
execution.  It  occurred  to  her  that  Mr.  Max 
well  might  be  absent  from  the  cabin,  follow 
ing  the  line  of  his  traps.  The  thought  of  pos 
sible  delay  in  the  performance  of  her  mission 
struck  a  chill  to  the  eager  wife's  heart.  At 
once,  then,  she  was  in  a  fever  of  impatience 
to  be  off  and  away. 

Nell  made  her  preparations  swiftly.  At 
her  order,  the  dogs  were  harnessed  to  the  sled, 
and  were  ready  at  the  door  of  the  hotel,  as  she 
issued  forth.  The  news  that  the  murderer's 
bride  was  about  to  start  out,  spread  through 
the  village  like  wild-fire.  The  sheriff  himself 
appeared  on  the  scene,  as  Nell  was  at  the  point 
of  departure.  He  shook  his  head  dolefully; 
but,  to  the  girl's  immense  relief,  he  did  not 
offer  to  detain  her. 

"I  dunno,"  he  remarked  doubtfully,  "what 
you  git  by  goin',  an'  I  dunno  neither  what 
you'd  git  by  stayin',  fer  the  matter  o'  that. 

"AnyKow,  a  wife  can't  testify  agin  her  bus- 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     225 

band,  so  I  hain't  got  any  call  to  hang  on  to 
ye." 

That  was  his  valedictory. 

Nell  wasted  neither  words  nor  smiles  on  the 
assembly.  She  had  no  kindly  feeling  toward 
these  men,  who  had  dared  accuse  her  husband 
of  crime.  Her  sole  response  to  the  sheriff's 
statement  was  a  crack  of  the  whip  and  a  lively 
cry  to  the  dogs,  which  leaped  forward  with 
a  speed  and  surety  of  movement  in  the  splen 
didly  muscled  bodies  that  made  the  watchers 
exclaim  admiringly. 

There  was  now  no  leisurely  progress,  such 
as  had  been  that  with  which  she  and  her  hus 
band  had  traversed  the  miles  together,  before 
death  brought  tragedy  to  their  bridal-journey. 
Nell,  in  two  years  of  her  living  in  the  North, 
had  learned  the  management  of  these  animals, 
on  which  transportation  over  the  snowy  ex 
panses  of  the  Arctic  so  depends.  She  knew 
well  how  to  get  from  her  team  every  ounce  of 
speed,  and  she  did  not  spare  them  in  the  least. 
The  crust  still  held,  so  that  the  going  was  of 


the  best.  Mechanically,  with  the  instinct  that 
develops  quickly  in  those  who  live  among  the 
wilds,  Nell  had  noted  each  salient  detail  of  the 
route  followed  by  her  and  Jack.  So,  now,  she 
was  sure  of  her  course,  and  drove  the  dogs  at 
full  speed  on  and  on,  following  the  levels  of 
interwoven  valleys  with  never  a  hint  of  hesi 
tation. 

It  was  late  afternoon  when,  at  last,  Nell 
found  herself  passing  along  the  valley  where 
they  had  lingered  behind  the  line  of  the  stam 
pede.  Hope  mounted  higher  here;  for  only 
a  few  miles  still  separated  her  from  the  man 
whose  aid  she  sought 

In  turn,  despair  smote  her  at  thought  of  the 
possibility  that  this  Mr.  Maxwell  might  be 
absent — might  even  not  return  that  night. 
She  had  a  dreadful  vision  of  Jack,  escaped 
from  his  prison,  yet  helpless,  without  dogs  or 
supplies,  doomed  to  perish  in  the  cold.  She 
resolved  that,  should  other  help  be  wanting, 
she  herself  would  return  alone  to  meet  him. 
She  took  a  little  encouragement  from  this  de 
termination,  until  it  occurred  to  her  that  there 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     227 

were  limits  to  the  endurance  of  the  dogs. 
Then,  again,  desolation  fell  on  her.  But,  at 
least,  they  would  be  together!  .  .  .  Thus,  her 
thoughts  rioted  in  the  stress  of  anxiety. 

Anxiety  became  an  anguished  suspense, 
when,  finally,  she  saw  the  tiny  bulk  of  the 
cabin,  showing  darkly  against  the  white  of  the 
valley-slope.  As  the  dogs  raced  nearer,  she 
stared  with  fierce  eagerness  to  catch  some  sign 
of  life.  She  was  in  terror  when  she  made  sure 
that  no  smoke  issued  from  the  chimney.  One 
does  not  sit  at  home  fireless  in  the  Far  North. 
A  great  fear  was  on.  her  as  she  halted  the  dogs 
before  the  cabin-door,  and  none  came  forth 
to  greet  her. 

Nell's  misery,  like  that  of  most  persons  in 
this  world  of  mistaken  ideas,  was  of  her  own 
making.  Hardly  had  she  clambered  down 
stiffly  from  the  sled,  when  the  cabin-door 
swung  open,  and  Jim  Maxwell  stepped  out. 
At  sight  of  his  visitor,  whom  he  recognized  in 
the  first  glance,  he  uttered  an  ejaculation  of 
astonishment,  and  advanced  toward  her 
quickly.  His  thought  on  seeing  her  alone 


228     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

thus  before  his  cabin  was  that  some  serious  ac 
cident  must  have  befallen  her  husband.  He 
was  deeply  concerned  over  the  girl's  plight, 
and  sympathy  showed  in  his  face  with  a  sin 
cerity  of  feeling  that  touched  the  girl  deeply 
— so  deeply,  indeed,  that  for  a  few  seconds 
after  he  was  come  to  her,  she  could  only  stand 
wordless,  with  her  hands  in  his  firm  clasp,  her 
eyes  glowing  with  the  gratitude  and  the  relief 
with  which  his  presence  inspired  her. 

Jim  Maxwell's  voice  was  softer  than  it  had 
been  in  more  than  a  decade  of  years. 

"Why,  child,  what's  the  matter?"  he  asked 
soothingly.  "Whatever  it  is,  we'll  make  it 
come  out  all  right.  Tell  me  about  it." 

Nell  choked  down  her  emotion,  and  pres 
ently  regained  a  fair  degree  of  self-control. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad — so  glad  you're  here,  Mr. 
Maxwell!"  Her  voice  throbbed  with  feel-' 
ing.  It  stirred  to  a  new  life  a  joy  long  dead 
in  the  man's  bosom — joy  in  the  realization  that 
some  one  wanted  him.  It  had  been  twelve 
years  since  any  one  had  wanted  him. 

"Tell  me,"  he  repeated.     His  tone  was  even 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     229 

gentler  than  before.  The  warmth  of  it 
cheered  the  girl  like  a  draft  of  rich  wine. 

Nell  fumbled  at  her  bosom  for  a  moment, 
and  drew  forth  the  note  that  Jack  had  written. 
She  held  it  out,  and  Jim  Maxwell  took  it  from 
her,  and  read  it  through  with  growing  aston 
ishment. 

After  he  had  scanned  it  for  a  second  time, 
he  looked  up  at  the  expectant  girl,  with  a  puz 
zled,  though  no  less  kindly,  glance. 

"But  what  does  it  all  mean?"  he  asked.  "I 
suppose  the  note  is  from  your  husband?" 

"Yes,"  assented  Nell  hurriedly.  "He's  go 
ing  to  escape." 

Jim  patted  the  girl's  hand  reassuringly. 

"Now,  just  take  it  easy,"  he  counseled. 
"You  must  remember  that  I  don't  know  a 
thing  about  it.  So,  you're  going  to  tell  me 
everything  that's  happened,  and  what  your 
husband  is  going  to  escape  from." 

The  calmness  of  the  speaker's  voice  quieted 
Nell's  excitement,  and  she  proceeded  to  relate 
without  confusion  an  outline  of  what  had  oc 
curred. 


23o     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

"Poor  little  girl!"  her  listener  said  tenderly, 
when  the  narrative  was  concluded.  "Well, 
he  did  right  to  send  word  to  me.  I  owe  you 
two  more  than  I  can  pay.  And  don't  you 
worry,  my  dear.  This  cloud  will  pass 
quickly.  The  sunshine  will  be  all  the  brighter 
after  the  shadow."  His  manner  changed,  and 
he  spoke  briskly.  "Now,  you  get  into  the 
cabin.  I'd  only  just  got  back  from  my  line 
and  kindled  the  fire  when  you  came.  The 
stove,  I  guess,  is  about  white-hot  by  now.  I'll 
attend  to  the  dogs." 

Nell  went  obediently,  full  of  happy  reli 
ance  on  the  strength  of  this  man,  who  was  at 
once  so  courteous  and  so  kind.  She  smiled 
over  her  distress  of  a  few  minutes  before. 
Now,  a  thick  column  of  smoke  rose  into  the 
still  air  from  the  cabin-chimney. 

Inside  the  tiny  room,  Nell  glanced  about 
her  with  a  curious  sense  of  contentment. 
There  was  something  homelike  in  the  aspect 
of  the  place,  despite  its  bareness.  It  was 
plainly,  even  roughly,  furnished  with  a  few 
tables  and  chairs  besides  the  stove  and  bunk. 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     231 

The  only  decorations  were  the  skins  that  hung 
on  the  log-walls.  An  oil-lamp  was  on  a  small 
table  in  a  corner.  On  the  large  table  in  the 
opposite  corner  were  some  tins  of  meat,  a 
saucepan,  a  few  pieces  of  heavy  crockery,  and 
the  like.  Nell  could  not  interpret  the  strange 
effect  wrought  upon  her  by  these  surround 
ings.  She  had  felt  it,  in  some  measure,  on  the 
occasion  of  her  first  visit  to  the  cabin.  Now, 
however,  its  force  seemed  vastly  stronger. 
She  puzzled  over  it  in  vain.  She  tried  to 
think  it  wras  the  sense  of  relief  that  so  affected 
her.  But  she  knew  that  this  was  not  the  ex 
planation.  She  had  that  inexplicable  feeling 
of  being  at  home.  There  was  no  visible 
cause.  Whatever  the  reason,  it  lay  beneath 
the  surface  of  things.  It  was  something  in 
the  atmosphere,  some  psychic  quality. 

It  seemed  to  Nell  that  the  impression  made 
upon  her  by  this  room  in  the  cabin  was  inten 
sified  by  the  entrance  of  the  dweller  there, 
who  greeted  her  with  his  friendly,  gentle 
smile.  Indeed,  the  kindliness  of  that  smile 
and  the  look  in  the  grave  eyes  touched  the  girl 


232     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

anew  to  thankfulness  that  this  man  would  de 
vote  himself  to  her  service  in  the  time  of  need. 
She  thought  to  herself  that  Mr.  Maxwell  must 
always  have  been  a  very  kindly  man  to  all, 
because  he  smiled  so  easily,  notwithstanding 
the  sadness  of  his  face  in  repose.  She  could 
not  know  that,  through  two-thirds  of  the  years 
measuring  her  span  of  life,  Jim  Maxwell  had 
not  smiled  at  all. 

"First,"  Jim  commanded,  "throw  off  the 
outside  things,  and  make  yourself  at  home. 
You're  going  to  stay  awhile." 

Nell  would  have  protested.  But  the  man 
raised  a  monitory  hand. 

"It's  no  use  your  arguing  about  it,"  he  said; 
and  Nell  recognized  the  masterful  note  in  his 
voice,  though  he  spoke  as  gently  as  before. 
She  was  rebellious,  but  she  listened  patiently 
while  he  went  on  to  explain. 

"You  see,  my  dear,  this  is  men's  work. 
There  might  be  a  hitch  somewhere.  There 
might  even  be  a  bit  of  a  mix-up.  You'd  only 
be  in  the  way  then,  young  lady.  We  may 
have  our  hands  full,  without  you  on  them. 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     233 

Probably  everything  will  be  all  right.  Any 
how,  we'll  do  our  best,  and  to  do  it  we  mustn't 
be  hampered  by  the  presence  of  a  non-com 
batant.  We'll  come  straight  here  as  fast  as 
my  dogs  can  bring  vis.  That  will  give  you  a 
chance  to  rest  up.  You'll  just  have  to  wait 
here  till  we  come.  I  don't  say  that  that  isn't 
the  hardest  part  of  the  whole  job.  But  that's 
woman's  work — waiting." 

Jim  had  spoken  thus  frankly  and  at  length, 
in  the  hope  of  avoiding  useless  discussion  of 
a  matter  concerning  which  discussion  could 
avail  nothing,  and  he  succeeded;  for  Nell 
yielded  at  once,  very  meekly. 

"You're  right,  of  course,"  she  said,  unhap 
pily.  "And  you're  right,  too,  about  my  hav 
ing  the  hardest  part  in  just  sitting  here  with 
my  hands  folded,  while  I  don't  know  what  is 
happening  to  Jack." 

"Better  unfold  them,"  Jim  suggested  with 
a  chuckle,  "and  rustle  yourself  some  grub." 
He  waved  his  hand  toward  the  larger  table. 
"The  larder  is  quite  at  your  service.  As  for 
me,  I'll  get  ready  and  start  at  once.  That'll 


234     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

get  me  to  the  edge  of  Kalmak  soon  after  dark, 
so  that  I'll  be  all  ready  and  waiting — just  like 
you! — for  whatever's  to  happen." 

"Yes,"  Nell  said,  and  again  there  was  the 
emphasis  of  anxiety  in  her  voice,  "you  must 
start  at  once.  You  must  be  there,  ready  for 
Jack  when  he  comes." 

Yet,  in  spite  of  this  decision  on  the  part  of 
both  that  the  man  should  start  immediately, 
it  was  ordained  by  the  Fates  that  there  should 
be  some  delay;  for  this  was  an  hour  fraught 
with  momentous  things  for  the  two  thus  cast 
together  in  the  solitary  cabin  on  the  mountain 
side. 

It  was  as  Jim  Maxwell  began  his  prepara 
tions  for  the  journey  that  he  chanced — or  that 
he  was  guided — to  stand  close  to  the  girl,  fac 
ing  her.  His  eyes  were  caught  by  a  golden 
gleam,  which  seemed  pulsing,  as  it  moved  in 
the  rhythm  of  her  breathing.  His  gaze  rested 
there  idly  at  first.  And  then,  a  moment  later, 
his  attention  was  drawn  to  a  more  careful 
scrutiny — just  why,  he  did  not  know.  Per 
haps,  as  some  maintain,  a  secret,  tenuous  vi- 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     235 

bration  emanated  from  the  metal,  and  moved 
to  response  a  sleeping  memory  of  old  associa 
tions  in  the  man's  soul.  Whatever  the  cause, 
Jim  Maxwell's  eyes  were  seized  and  held  fast 
by  the  locket  lying  on  Nell's  breast. 

Of  a  sudden,  he  started  violently.  He 
thrust  his  head  forward,  with  a  movement  so 
abrupt,  almost  threatening  in  its  seeming,  that 
the  girl,  in  her  turn,  was  startled,  and  with 
drew  a  step,  half-fearful. 

"I  want  to  see  that  locket  you  are  wearing." 
Jim  Maxwell  spoke  in  a  tone  that  Nell  had 
not  heard  before.  It  rang  with  a  note  of 
command  not  to  be  denied.  She  gazed  af 
frighted  at  the  change  in  his  face.  The  kind 
liness  was  fled  from  it.  It  was  imperious, 
ruthless,  with  a  trace  of  underlying  savagery. 
The  young  wife  was  dazed  by  the  metamor 
phosis  in  the  man  on  whom  depended  now  her 
husband's  rescue.  And  she  was  afraid,  as  well 
—no  longer  with  a  doubtful  fear,  but  with  a 
real  terror  before  the  expression  in  that 
heavily  lined  face,  out  of  which  the  eyes  stared 
at  her  with  a  cruel  insistence. 


23  6    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

"I  want  to  see  that  locket  you  are  wearing," 
he  repeated  harshly,  and  held  out  his  right 
hand  with  the  palm  upward  to  receive  it. 

Without  a  word,  Nell  took  off  the  chain 
from  her  neck,  and  dropped  it  with  the  locket 
into  the  waiting  palm.  Then,  she  moved  a 
little  aside,  shrinking  from  the  new  being  with 
whom  she  found  herself.  But,  after  a  few  sec 
onds,  she  forgot  her  own  emotion,  her  alarm, 
her  anxiety  in  behalf  of  her  husband.  For 
she  was  looking  on  the  soul  of  a  man,  bared  in 
agony.  So  great  and  so  terrible  was  that  rev 
elation  that,  very  quickly,  she  turned  her 
gaze  aside  that  she  might  not  see. 

Jim  Maxwell  remained  with  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  little  locket,  which  bore  for  an  orna 
ment  an  initial  N  traced  in  tiny  pearls.  He 
could  not  doubt.  It  was  the  locket  that  he 
had  caused  to  be  made  for  his  daughter,  for 
Nell — his  little  girl!  Presently,  he  would 
open  it,  to  see  if  the  pictures  of  Lou  and  of 
himself  were  still  within.  But,  in  this  first 
burst  of  emotion,  he  could  only  stand  moveless 
there,  racked  by  all  the  torments  of  memory. 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     237 

It  was  the  tearing  open  of  wounds,  which, 
though  they  had  never  healed,  had  ceased  to 
bleed.  Now,  they  bled  afresh,  and  it  seemed 
to  him  that  his  soul  was  drowning  in  the  blood. 

The  fierceness  of  his  first  emotion  passed. 
Suddenly,  it  was  as  if  a  cloud  lifted  from  his 
brain,  and  he  became  aware  of  himself  stand 
ing  there  in  the  cabin.  A  moment  before— 
or  was  it  ages? — he  had  been  in  heaven — and 
in  hell.  Now,  he  was  back  in  the  cabin  in  the 
wilderness.  And  he  was  glad  to  be  there,  for 
it  was  home.  .  .  . 

Again,  his  attention  was  caught  by  the  gleam 
of  the  gold  within  his  hands.  He  recognized 
the  locket.  But,  at  last,  he  was  able  to  accept 
its  presence  with  some  degree  of  calm. 

Jim  Maxwell  turned  to  the  girl,  and  ad 
dressed  her  gently  enough,  but  still  with  that 
dominant  tone  which  would  brook  no  denial. 

"Where  did  you  get  this  locket?" 

"I  have  had  it  always,"  she  answered. 
None  could  doubt  her  truth  as  she  spoke,  with 
the  clear  eyes  meeting  her  questioner's  stern 
gaze  squarely. 


238     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

The  severity  of  the  man's  expression  yielded 
a  little. 

"Who  gave  it  to  you?" 

"I  do  not  know." 

Jim  frowned  at  this  check. 

"But  you  must  know,"  he  insisted. 

Nell  shook  her  head  resolutely. 

"I  do  not  remember  who  gave  it  to  me,"  she 
repeated.  "But  I  don't  remember  anything 
about  myself  when  I  was  a  very  little  girl. 
I've  had  the  locket  always,  just  as  far  back  as 
I  can  remember." 

"How  far  back  can  you  remember?"  It 
was  a  perfunctory  question. 

"Papa  and  Mamma  Ross,  who  saved  me 
from  the  river,  guessed  that  I  was  five  or  six 
years  old.  They  decided  on  calling  it  six." 

"And  you  had  the  locket  then?" 

Nell  nodded  assent  again. 

"And  how  old  are  you  now?" 

"I'm  just  eighteen." 

As  his  brain  took  in  the  figures,  and  made  a 
mechanical  calculation,  Jim  Maxwell's  form, 
which  had  relaxed  a  little,  grew  tense  again. 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     239 

His  eyes  searched  the  girl's  face  with  a  strange 
hunger  in  the  intensity  of  the  gaze.  Twelve 
years!  Twelve  years  ago,  this  girl  here  be 
fore  him,  who  knew  nothing  as  to  her  life 
prior  to  that  time,  had  been  saved  from  a  river. 
And  she  had  worn  the  locket  that  he  had 
caused  to  be  fashioned  for  his  daughter,  Nell. 
And  twelve  years  ago  his  wife  and  his  daugh 
ter,  Nell,  had  vanished.  The  incredible 
crowded  in  his  thoughts.  Could  mother  and 
child,  by  an  evil  stroke  of  fate,  have  been 
caught  somewhere  in  treacherous  waters? 
Could  one  have  perished,  and  the  other  have 
escaped?  Could  this  girl,  who  stood  there 
wondering  at  him — could  she  be  that  child, 
his  little  Nell,  grown  to  this  splendid  woman 
hood?  The  thoughts  electrified  him.  Was 
it  possible  that  there  was  still  left  for  him  in 
life  this  supreme  consolation — a  creature 
whom  he  might  love  with  all  his  heart,  who 
would  love  him  in  return? 

But  Jim  Maxwell  dared  not  believe.  He 
was  afraid  of  hope,  lest  it  become  despair  to 
destroy  him.  Yet,  the  chief  influences  that 


24o    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

wrought  upon  him  were  his  own  desire  that 
this  miracle  might  be  truth,  and  the  new  and 
singular  yearning  of  his  heart  toward  Nell. 

Presently,  Jim  Maxwell  approached  the 
girl  where  she  was  standing  a  little  aloof. 
He  reached  out  and  put  his  hand  on  her  arm. 
The  girl  started  at  his  touch,  but,  for  some 
reason  she  could  not  understand,  she  did  not 
shrink  from  him  now.  He  spoke  very  softly; 
and  in  his  voice  there  was  a  music  that  pene 
trated  to  the  girl's  soul. 

"You  are  my  daughter — my  little  Nell! 
.  .  .  God  has  given  you  back  to  me." 

The  girl  did  not  doubt.  As  with  the  man, 
her  own  yearning  bore  witness.  She  offered 
no  resistance,  but  yielded  with  a  reverent  joy 
to  the  caress,  as  her  father  turned  her  about 
until  she  faced  him,  then  stooped  and  kissed 
her  on  the  forehead. 


A      SPLENDID     FIGURE     OF     A     MAX,    POSED     I -V      UNCONSCIOUS 
MAJESTY. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

IN  the  tedious  hours  of  waiting  after  part 
ing  from  Nell,  Jack  Reeves  was  infinitely 
cheered  by  the  consciousness  that  he  would 
have  for  an  ally  in  this  crisis  one  such  as  Jim 
Maxwell.  Often,  there  came  into  the  pris 
oner's  thought  a  memory  of  how  he  had  last 
seen  the  trapper.  He  had  turned  for  a  look 
back  as  the  sled  dropped  to  the  level  of  the 
valley.  The  solitary  dweller  in  that  wild 
place  had  been  standing  erect  and  motionless 
before  the  cabin — a  splendid  figure  of  a  man, 
posed  in  unconscious  majesty. 

There  was,  of  course,  the  risk  that  Jim 
Maxwell  might  be  away  from  the  cabin  and 
so  not  available  to  render  assistance.  That 
risk,  however,  could  not  be  avoided,  since 
there  was  no  one  else  to  whom  appeal  might 
be  made.  But  Jack  was  able  to  hold  an  opti 
mistic  frame  of  mind.  Somehow  the  effect 

241 


242     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

made  upon  him  by  the  stranger  whom  he  and 
Nell  had  rescued  from  death  was  such  that 
he  felt  a  certain  confidence  as  to  the  outcome 
of  his  plan,  merely  because  it  depended  vitally 
on  the  cooperation  of  Jim  Maxwell.  Jack 
was  sure  that  he  could  have  secured  this  as 
sistance,  even  had  there  been  no  sense  of  obli 
gation  to  bind  the  stranger  to  his  service. 
With  Jim  Maxwell's  obvious  and  profound 
gratitude  for  having  been  rescued  from  death, 
there  could  be  no  doubt  concerning  his  re 
sponse  to  the  prisoner's  call  for  help. 

Though  he  was  busy  with  thoughts  con 
cerning  his  projected  flight,  Jack  found  the 
day  dragging  endlessly.  It  seemed  an  eter 
nity  before  at  last  the  shadows  lengthened  into 
night.  Then,  indeed,  when  patience  was  least 
needed,  it  became  most  difficult.  Now  that 
the  time  was  so  near  at  hand,  the  minutes 
crawled  with  a  sluggishness  that  was  exasper 
ating.  It  seemed  to  Jack  that  the  sheriff  pur 
posed  to  sit  in  the  adjoining  room  throughout 
the  night.  It  was  only  when  he  looked  at  his 
watch  that  the  fretting  captive  learned  how 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     243 

anxiety  deceived  him,  for  it  yet  lacked  a  half- 
hour  of  the  official's  usual  retiring  time. 

Finally,  since  all  things  have  an  end,  the 
sheriff  stood  up,  and,  after  an  amiable  but 
formal  good-night,  went  out  into  the  living- 
quarters  of  the  house.  Followed  an  hour  that 
was  still  more  laggard  than  any  of  those  that 
had  preceded  it  in  this  most  laggard  day. 
Jack  had  decided  that  there  could  be  no  need 
of  waiting  until  late  at  night  before  making 
his  attempt.  There  were  only  two  classes 
among  the  citizens  of  the  town.  One  went  to 
bed  early;  the  other  went  very  late — if  at  all. 
The  prisoner  hoped  that  the  first  class  would 
sleep  too  soundly  to  have  any  knowledge  of 
his  undertaking  until  too  late  to  thwart  it; 
that  the  second  class  would  be  too  drunk  for 
serious  interference. 

When  he  deemed  it  time  to  begin  his  prep 
arations  for  escape,  Jack  gathered  the  most  in 
flammable  parts  of  the  litter  on  the  floor. 
There  was  more  than  sufficient  for  his  pur 
pose,  since  the  sheriff,  however  great  his  other 
official  virtues,  was  by  no  manner  of  means  a 


244    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

tidy  person.  This  collection  of  fragments  of 
paper  and  wood  was  stacked  against  the  par 
tition  that  separated  the  cell  from  the  outer 
room,  midway  on  one  side  of  the  door.  The 
prisoner  was  at  pains  to  use  only  paper  and 
splinters,  which  would  burn  with  little  smoke. 
He  had  chosen  the  only  possible  point  of  at 
tack  for  his  purpose.  The  other  three  walls 
of  the  cell  were  of  heavy  timbers,  which  could 
have  been  set  on  fire  only  with  difficulty,  and, 
once  well  alight,  would  have  assuredly  roasted 
to  death  any  one  in  the  place,  since  there  could 
have  been  no  possibility  of  breaking  through 
them. 

The  situation  was  different  as  to  the  wall 
in  which  the  door  was  set.  This  was  made  of 
boards,  instead  of  logs.  They  were  too  heavy 
to  be  broken  through  by  blows  from  the  heavy 
chair,  which  was  the  only  tool  available  to  the 
prisoner.  Jack  had  conceived  the  possibility 
of  setting  fire  to  some  of  the  lower  boards, 
and  thus  weakening  them  to  a  point  where 
they  would  yield  to  his  attack.  So,  now, 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     245 

when  he  had  placed  his  kindling  in  position, 
he  made  ready  with  the  match. 

Never  was  a  match  struck  more  carefully. 
It  was  the  only  one,  and  on  its  aid  at  the  outset 
the  whole  attempt  of  escape  rested.  Jack 
breathed  a  prayer  of  thanksgiving  as  the 
match  sputtered  and  flared  to  a  steady  flame. 
Next  moment  paper  and  sticks  were  burning 
briskly.  The  fire  mounted,  lapping  gently  at 
the  boards  of  the  wall. 

Jack,  kneeling  closely,  watched  earnestly. 
There  was  nothing  more  for  him  to  do  now; 
he  had  only  to  wait  for  his  servant,  the  fire, 
to  prepare  the  way.  He  shuddered  a  little 
at  the  thought  that  the  servant  might  become 
the  master — that  in  the  end  he  might  perish 
miserably  in  a  fire-trap  of  his  own  devising. 

He  stood  up,  and,  by  an  effort  of  will,  thrust 
the  thought  from  him,  lest  fear  drain  him  of 
the  energy  needed  for  the  flight  to  come.  He 
forced  himself  to  think  of  anything  else, 
rather  than  of  a  failure  so  horrible — of  Nell, 
who  would  be  waiting  for  him  in  a  mood  of 


246     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

hope  and  despair  intermingled;  of  Jim  Max 
well,  who  would  be  ready  in  this  time  of  need. 
He  pictured  the  trapper  with  his  dogs,  wait 
ing  patiently  on  the  snow  where  the  spruce 
shadows  fell. 

The  flame  rose  higher  and  higher.  The 
dry  boards  in  the  partition  were  smoking. 
Little  lines  of  sparks  ran  over  the  rough  sur 
face,  then  died.  The  smoke  from  the  boards 
grew  heavier.  The  acrid  odor  filled  the  cell. 
Jack  coughed  and  dropped  again  to  his  knees, 
in  order  to  avoid  the  worst  of  the  fumes.  The 
heat  increased,  but  it  was  not  sufficient  to 
cause  any  particular  discomfort.  Jack  had 
vastly  more  fear  that  the  increasing  volume  of 
smoke  might  overcome  him  before  he  should 
have  opportunity  for  carrying  out  his  project. 
Presently,  however,  he  was  greatly  heartened 
by  observing  that  there  was  draft  which 
carried  the  greater  part  of  the  smoke  out  of 
the  cell  through  the  grating  in  the  door.  As 
he  looked,  he  saw  that  the  other  room  was 
filled  already  with  dense  clouds  of  smoke. 
He  took  further  comfort  from  the  fact  that 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     247 

the  fumes  were  not  apparently  escaping  into 
the  main  body  of  the  house,  where  they  might 
have  given  the  alarm. 

In  the  cell,  the  lower  boards  of  the  parti 
tion  had  burst  into  flame.  The  heat  from 
them  was  now  so  great  that  Jack  crawled 
away  from  it  into  the  farthest  corner.  The 
tiny  room  was  like  an  oven,  and  to  add  to  the 
discomfort  of  it  and  the  deadly  danger,  the 
smoke  thickened  visibly,  notwithstanding  the 
current  passing  out  through  the  door. 

Jack  realized,  with  a  thrill  of  horror,  that 
here  was  a  duel — a  duel  to  the  death.  It  was 
a  duel  between  him  and  those  fiercely  darting 
flames.  Rather,  it  was  a  duel  between  him 
and  those  blazing  boards  in  the  partition — a 
duel  of  endurance  between  him  and  them. 
Which  would  be  the  first  to  yield?  If  the 
boards  should  hold  out  the  longer,  then  he — ! 
Jack  shuddered  once  again,  with  a  wry  smile 
over  the  irony  of  fate.  Here,  in  this  rigorous 
climate,  men  went  often  hand-in-hand  with  a 
Death  whose  scythe  was  edged  with  ice. 
Jack  had  contemplated  the  possibility  of  be- 


248     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

ing  some  time  struck  down  by  the  numbing 
cold.  It  had  never  occurred  to  him  that  in 
this  Arctic  land  he  might  die  in  a  hell  of  his 
own  stoking. 

The  stifling  prisoner  dared  hope  that  at  last 
the  blaze  had  weakened  the  boards  sufficiently 
for  his  purpose.  Whether  or  no,  his  suffer 
ing  drove  him  to  action.  The  heat  was  intol 
erable  now.  Sweat  poured  from  him.  The 
pungent  smoke  blinded  him,  and  bit  cruelly 
at  throat  and  lungs.  Still  without  rising  to 
his  feet,  Jack  laid  hold  of  the  chair,  which  was 
just  beside  him,  and  hobbled  clumsily  toward 
the  partition,  pushing  the  chair  before  him. 

Even  this  comparatively  slight  exertion 
caused  the  perspiration  to  gush  in  new  abun 
dance,  and  here,  closer  to  the  flame,  the  tem 
perature  was  well-nigh  unbearable.  Jack's 
head  swam.  He  felt  his  senses  failing.  It 
was  only  by  a  tremendous  effort  that  he  re 
gained  control  of  himself.  He  was  aware  of 
his  mortal  peril.  Any  least  weakening  or  fal 
tering  now  would  mean  his  destruction.  It 
was,  indeed,  a  duel  to  the  death — a  duel  of 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     249 

endurance  between  him  and  a  foe  that  knew 
no  mercy. 

Jack  realized,  as  well,  that  there  could  be 
no  delay  in  the  issue.  He  must  act  at  once, 
if  he  were  to  act  at  all.  A  minute  later  would 
be  forever  too  late.  His  brain  was  reeling. 
His  agonized  flesh  could  not  longer  withstand 
the  strain.  He  felt  his  energies  flow  out  of 
him  like  water.  .  .  .  What  he  would  do  must 
be  done  instantly — or  not  at  all. 

Jack  drew  a  long  breath,  sprang  up,  swung 
the  chair,  and  brought  it  crashing  against  the 
boards  of  the  partition  where  the  flames 
burned  most  furiously.  The  wall  did  not 
break,  though  it  seemed  to  yield  a  little  under 
the  blow.  But,  before  he  could  try  another 
assault,  dizziness  sent  him  staggering  away 
from  the  unbearable  heat  and  smoke  of  that 
spot.  He  dropped  to  the  floor,  where  he  lay 
stretched  at  full  length,  panting  in  choking 
breaths.  For  a  few  seconds  he  was  in  the 
grip  of  despair.  He  felt  himself  impotent, 
doomed  to  shameful  death  in  this  furnace- 
hole. 


250    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

Nevertheless,  the  spirit  of  the  young  man, 
albeit  fainting,  was  not  dead.  It  aroused 
presently.  And  it  quickened  the  flesh.  Once 
again  Jack  acted.  His  brain  was  dulled. 
He  was  hardly  conscious  of  thought.  The 
whole  strength  of  his  being  was  concentrated 
in  his  will  to  make  a  last,  supreme  effort. 
Again,  after  a  deep  breath,  he  leaped  to  his 
feet,  seized  the  chair  and  hurled  it  against  the 
center  of  the  flaming  mass  with  every  atom  of 
his  strength. 

In  the  interval  since  his  first  attempt,  the 
fire  that  threatened  him  with  death  had,  not 
withstanding,  been  working  in  his  behalf, 
weakening  still  more  the  boards,  his  enemies 
in  this  duel  of  endurance.  The  heavy  chair 
burst  through  the  blazing  barrier  and  fell 
noisily  in  the  other  room. 

Joy  surged  in  the  prisoner.  Under  the 
stimulus  of  it,  he  forgot  pain  and  feebleness. 
He  rushed  at  the  flaming  wall  and  kicked 
clear  a  larger  opening.  Then  he  plunged 
through  the  flames. 

Jack  fell  headlong  on  the  floor  of  the  sher- 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW    251 

iff's  office.  (By  instinct,  he  remained  pros 
trate,  with  his  face  against  the  floor,  else  he 
must  have  strangled.  But  instinct  urged  him 
onward.  He  crept  toward  the  window, 
which,  fortunately,  was  on  the  side  of  the 
room  where  he  had  fallen.  His  eyes  were 
shut  fast  now,  for  the  smoke  had  blinded  him. 
But  his  groping  hand,  upraised,  found  the 
window-sash.  Once  more  Jack  held  his 
scant  breath  as  he  got  to  his  feet.  He  drove 
his  elbows  through  the  panes.  The  zero  air 
enwrapped  him.  The  touch  of  it  was  bliss. 
It  brought  blessed  life  to  the  seared  lungs. 
Jack  took  one  great  breath  of  it.  Then  he  put 
a  foot  to  the  window-ledge,  drew  himself  up 
and  went  through,  amid  the  noise  of  rending 
glass  and  wood.  Without  an  instant  of  pause, 
or  a  single  glance  backward,  he  was  off,  plow 
ing  his  way  through  the  heaped-up  snow, 
which  bordered  the  clear  space  beyond  the 
buildings.  In  another  minute  he  was  on  the 
solid  crust.  Thus  he  ran  on  in  a  line  parallel 
with  the  one  street  of  the  village,  but  behind 
the  buildings  that  straggled  there.  He  passed 


252     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

the  last  of  these,  and  saw  before  him  the  white 
reaches  of  the  valley,  without  sign  of  life  any 
where,  beckoning  him  on  to  freedom.  His 
stride  quickened  and  he  went  forward  jubi 
lantly. 

A  hail  came  to  Jack's  ears.  He  looked  in 
the  direction  of  the  sound  and  saw,  a  little  to 
the  right  of  the  trail,  a  ghostly  silhouette,  even 
as  he  had  pictured  it — the  trapper,  with  his 
dogs,  waiting  patiently  on  the  snow  where  the 
spruce  shadows  fell. 


CHAPTER  XX 

NELL,  standing  before  the  cabin-door, 
peered  for  the  hundredth  time  that 
night  across  the  valley.  Her  eyes  seemed  to 
catch  in  the  far  distance  a  hint  of  movement, 
a  flickering  shadow  out  there  in  the  dim  light 
of  snow  beneath  starlight.  It  was  gone  in 
the  same  instant.  It  must  have  been  a  trick 
ery  of  vision.  No!  there  it  was  again — a 
shadow  that  moved,  a  tiniest  speck,  but  real. 
Nell's  hands  went  to  her  bosom  convulsively. 
It  could  be  none  other  than  Mr.  Maxwell — 
her  father — coming  there.  Did  he  come 
alone?  She  stood  with  straining  eyes  in  a 
torment  of  doubt.  Soon  she  was  able  to  make 
out  that  only  one  figure  ran  with  the  moving 
sled.  It  was  as  if  the  heart  died  in  her. 
Then,  in  the  next  moment,  she  thought  that 
she  could  distinguish  vaguely  the  outlines  of 

another  form  on  the  sled.     She  was  a-tremble 

253 


254 

with  hope.  The  sled  rushed  toward  her  up 
the  slope,  the  wearied  dogs  mending  their 
pace  in  the  frantic  delight  of  home-coming. 
It  was  certainty  now.  Nell  could  see  the  man 
on  the  sled.  He  waved  a  hand  to  her.  A  cry 
of  rapture  burst  from  her  lips.  Within  the 
minute,  she  was  clasped  to  her  husband's 
breast — all  sorrows  forgot. 

Presently,  when  the  first  excitement  of  the 
reunion  was  over,  and  the  three  were  together 
in  the  cheery  warmth  of  the  cabin,  Jack  told 
his  story  very  briefly,  whereat  Nell  paled  and 
trembled  as  she  realized  how  near  to  death 
this  night  had  been  the  man  she  loved.  But, 
when  the  fugitive  finished  the  story  with  his 
arrival  at  the  point  where  Jim  Maxwell 
waited,  Nell  suddenly  rose  and  went  to  the 
older  man  and  threw  herself  on  his  breast 
and  kissed  him. 

"Father,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  you — !" 

Jack  regarded  the  scene  in  amazement,  not 

untinged  by  disapproval.     Gratitude  was  all 

very  well,  but  it  need  not  express  itself  too 

extravagantly.     Then   he   almost   forgot   the 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     255 

embrace  in  wonder  over  the  word — "father!" 

"Eh?"  he  questioned  confusedly.  "You've 
adopted  him?  That  is,  he's  adopted  you?" 

"Oh!"  Nell  exclaimed,  drawing  away  from 
her  father  to  regard  him  with  consternation. 
"Didn't  you  tell  him?" 

Jim  Maxwell  smiled  very  tenderly. 

"No,  I  didn't  tell  him.  I  thought  maybe 
you'd  like  to  do  that  yourself,  dear." 

Nell  kissed  her  father  again,  with  such  en 
thusiasm  that  Jack's  disapproval  returned 
with  increased  bitterness. 

"You're  a  darling,  Father,"  she  declared 
happily.  In  the  reaction  from  her  suffering, 
she  was  bubbling  over  with  girlish  gayety. 
"I'd  just  love  to  tell  him.  It  will  be  such  fun 
to  see  his  eyes  pop  out." 

It  was  fun — and  something  deeper  and 
sweeter.  Jack,  for  his  part,  welcomed  the 
fact  of  this  new  relationship  with  the  man 
so  curiously  and  intimately  brought  into  his 
life.  He  rejoiced  for  his  own  sake,  and  he 
rejoiced  more  for  Nell's;  since  now  she  need 
no  longer  mourn  over  being  a  nameless  waif, 


256    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

though  the  mystery  of  her  life  was  only  partly 
explained. 

The  hands  of  the  two  met  in  a  warm  clasp, 
and  their  eyes  met  no  less  warmly  in  a  firm, 
honest  gaze  of  mutual  liking  and  respect. 

"I  reckon  I've  done  a  pretty  good  day's 
work,"  Jim  said,  with  a  whimsical  smile  to 
mask  his  emotion.  "I've  got  a  daughter  and 
a  son,  too — both  in  one  day.  And  I  didn't 
have  anybody  before — not  for  twelve  years." 
There  was  a  pathetic  intensity  in  his  voice, 
which  touched  the  two  hearers  to  a  new  ap 
preciation  of  this  man's  great  loneliness. 
Then  Jim  Maxwell  shrugged  his  shoulders,  as 
if  he  would  cast  off  the  mood  of  emotion.  He 
spoke  rapidly  now,  with  incisive  directness. 

"You  must  get  across  the  Border  as  fast  as 
you  can.  I'll  tell  you  some  short  cuts."  He 
had  driven  his  dogs  often  to  Malamute,  and 
knew  the  ways  by  which  the  fugitives  might 
gain  advantage  over  their  pursuers.  "YouVe 
had  an  hour  here,  and  it  would  be  risky  to  wait 
any  longer  before  starting  out.  They  may  be 
after  you  any  minute." 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGKEW     257 

"TKey  may  think  I've  been  burned  up  in 
the  fire,"  Jack  suggested. 

Jim  shook  his  head  in  dissent. 

"No.  Those  logs  would  take  a  good  bit  of 
burning.  Somebody  would  give  the  alarm, 
and  they'd  tumble  out  to  see  the  fire,  and 
they'd  see  that  window  you'd  smashed 
through." 

"And  I  had  to  wade  through  some  loose 
snow,"  Jack  added.  "They'd  find  my  tracks 
fast  enough." 

"Tracks  leading  this  way!  I  tell  you, 
there's  no  time  to  be  lost.  You  know  the 
trails  to  Malamute.  Make  it  as  quick  as 
you  can.  From  there,  strike  across  the  Bor 
der." 

He  was  interrupted  by  Nell,  who  exclaimed 
impulsively: 

"But,  Father,  what  about  you?  I  can't 
bear  the  thought  of  leaving  you  now,  when 
I've  just  found  you  after  all  these  years." 

Jim  Maxwell  smiled  down  on  his  daughter 
with  deep  fondness. 

"When  you're  in  Canada,  write  to  me  here 


258     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

— to  Kalmak,  telling  me  where  you  will  be, 
and  I'll  join  you  very  soon." 

He  turned  to  Jack  and  gave  explicit  direc 
tions  as  to  how  the  route  to  Malamute  might 
be  shortened  profitably.  When  he  was  sure 
that  the  young  man  had  understood,  he  turned 
again  to  Nell. 

"I'm  not  quite  so  poor  as  I  look,  little  girl," 
he  said,  smiling.  "When  I  join  you  I'll  have 
a  wedding-present  ready  for  you — for  you, 
and  for  the  boy  here."  His  glance  went  af 
fectionately  to  Jack,  who  returned  it  with  like 
affection. 

Preparations  for  the  departure  of  the  two 
were  speedily  made.  The  farewells  were  ut 
tered;  father  and  daughter  kissed  tenderly; 
the  men  shook  hands  heartily.  Then  the 
dogs,  in  fine  fettle  after  ample  food  and  rest, 
leaped  forward  with  joyous  energy.  The 
night  was  clear  enough  to  see  the  way  dis 
tinctly;  there  was  no  danger  of  mistaking  the 
trail.  On  and  on  they  flew  over  the  frozen 
surface  of  the  snow,  following  the  valleys  that 
trended  to  the  east.  Warmly  clad  and  habitu- 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     259 

ated  to  icy  airs,  the  two  did  not  suffer  any 
discomfort  from  the  bitter  cold  of  the  wind 
created  by  their  rapid  motion  through  the 
night.  On  the  contrary,  it  set  their  blood 
tingling  with  the  joy  of  life.  Both  were  glo 
riously  happy.  The  starlight  was  as  noon-day 
since  they  had  come  out  of  the  valley  of  the 
shadow. 

Thus  they  went  forward  swiftly,  Nell 
stretched  at  ease,  Jack  riding  and  running  by 
turns.  In  the  twilight  of  dawn,  they  came  on 
a  native  family  comfortably  encamped,  and 
here  they  halted  for  an  hour,  that  the  dogs 
might  be  fed  and  rested,  and  that  they,  too, 
might  eat  and  rest.  They  basked  contentedly 
in  the  cheery  heat  from  the  flames,  and  at  last 
took  leave  of  their  stolid  hosts  almost  reluc 
tantly.  Then,  once  again,  they  went  skim 
ming  over  the  waste,  as  the  pale-yellow  sun 
crept  languidly  above  the  horizon.  The 
slanting  beams  set  all  the  scene  a-shimmer 
with  prismatic  radiance  from  the  snow  crys 
tals.  Hitherto,  the  two  had  been  content  with 
silence,  happy  in  the  knowledge  that  they 


260     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

were  together  and  that  the  speeding  miles  put 
peril  far  behind.  Now,  however,  with  the 
quickening  life  of  day,  the  placid  mood  came 
to  an  end.  They  became  lively,  garrulous, 
demonstrative.  Nell  insisted  that  Jack 
should  rehearse  for  her  anew  every  detail  of 
his  escape  from  the  jail.  The  husband,  in 
turn,  demanded  a  full  account  of  how  father 
and  daughter  had  become  known  to  each 
other.  Both  were  curious  to  know  the  story 
of  Jim  Maxwell's  life.  They  could  not  for 
bear  many  speculations  as  to  the  nature  of  the 
events  that  had  driven  this  man,  whom  Jack 
liked  and  esteemed,  and  whom  Nell  had  al 
ready  grown  to  love,  to  isolate  himself  thus  in 
the  desolate  North.  But  they  could  only 
guess,  since  the  father  had  told  nothing  of 
himself,  except  the  single  fact  of  his  relation 
ship  to  Nell. 

They  made  Malamute  in  mid-afternoon. 
Jack  halted  the  dogs  in  front  of  the  chief 
structure  in  the  place,  which,  though  nomi 
nally  only  a  saloon,  was  in  fact  the  hotel  and 
trading  post. 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     261 

"Don't  get  out,  Nell,"  Jack  directed.  "I'll 
have  to  get  directions  here  for  the  next  stage 
in  the  journey.  Maybe  we'll  have  to  stay  for 
the  night,  and  maybe  we  won't.  I'll  be  back 
in  a  minute."  With  that  he  hurried  off  and 
entered  the  saloon. 

As  the  door  swung  open  to  admit  the  new 
comer,  the  few  men  straggling  along  the  bar, 
or  lounging  at  the  tables,  looked  up  in  mild 
curiosity  to  see  who  this  might  be.  Only  one 
showed  any  especial  interest  in  the  stranger. 
This  single  exception  was  a  man  who  sat  by 
a  table  placed  against  the  wall  at  right  angles 
to  the  bar.  He  had  been  lazily  busy  over  a 
game  of  solitaire,  while  the  woman  seated 
across  the  table  from  him  looked  on  listlessly. 
At  Jack's  entrance,  he  had  looked  up  with 
languid  attention.  On  the  instant,  he  was 
transformed.  All  the  indifference  of  his  ex 
pression  vanished.  His  face  showed  first  an 
unbounded  amazement,  then  rage.  Finally, 
another  emotion — hardly  fear,  but  a  furtive 
anxiety  closely  akin  to  fear.  He  watched 
covertly  as  the  escaped  prisoner  went  up  to  the 


262     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

bar,  where,  after  ordering  a  drink,  he  began 
questioning  the  bartender  concerning  the 
most  direct  route  to  the  Border. 

Having  secured  the  information  he  re 
quired,  Jack  went  back  to  Nell,  who  sat  wait 
ing  on  the  sled,  snug  within  her  furs. 

"We'd  better  stay  here  for  the  night,"  he 
explained,  "and  make  an  early  start  in  the 
morning." 

Nell  got  down  from  the  sled  obediently  and 
accompanied  her  husband  into  the  saloon, 
where  arrangements  for  their  entertainment 
were  speedily  concluded.  It  was  only  after 
the  two  had  gone  upstairs  to  the  room  assigned 
them  that  the  man,  who  had  held  his  head  bent 
low  over  the  spread-out  cards  of  the  solitaire 
game  during  their  presence,  looked  up  and 
beckoned  to  a  tall,  rough-featured  individual 
standing  alone  at  one  end  of  the  bar.  This 
was  the  sheriff  of  Malamute.  As  he  came 
near,  Dan  McGrew  spoke,  and  his  voice 
rasped. 

"Did  you  recognize  that  chap  with  the 
girl?" 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     263. 

"Never  laid  eyes  on  him  before,"  the  offi 
cial  averred.  ''What  about  it?" 

"When  I  was  down  at  Kalmak  the  other 
day,"  Dangerous  Dan  answered  impressively, 
"they  arrested  that  fellow  for  murder.  He's 
broken  jail." 

The  sheriff  grinned  contentedly. 

"Then  right  here's  where  he  breaks  in 
again.  I'll  see  to  that.  You're  sure  there's 
no  mistake?" 

"No  mistake!"  was  the  terse  assurance. 
"I'll  swear  to  his  identity  if  necessary.  But 
probably  there'll  be  somebody  after  him 
pretty  soon,  as  they'd  figure  he'd  take  this  way 
for  the  Border." 

"I  thought  you  were  going  in  the  morn 
ing,"  the  sheriff  objected.  "I'll  have  to 
have  you  for  a  witness,  if  nobody  else  turns 
up." 

"Oh,  I'll  stay,  all  right!"  Dan  laughed. 

And  the  Fates  must  have  laughed  with  him, 
and  at  him,  in  mockery;  for,  in  this  last  ma 
lignant  act,  Dangerous  Dan  McGrew  worked 
evil  against  himself  and  none  other.  .  .  .  Lou, 


264    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

looking  on  apathetically,  wondered  why  Dan 
should  be  so  eager  to  deliver  over  a  fugitive 
from  justice.  He  was  not  usually  so  intoler 
ant  of  crime! 


CHAPTER  XXI 

JIM  MAXWELL,  left  alone  in  his  cabin, 
had  company  a-plenty  in  thronging 
thoughts.  His  mood,  on  the  whole,  was 
nearer  to  one  of  happiness  than  any  he  had 
known  before  in  the  years  since  the  wrecking 
of  his  home.  The  discovery  of  his  daughter 
had  filled  him  with  pure  delight.  Had  she 
been  other  than  she  was,  this  recovery  of  her 
would  still  have  filled  him  with  gladness.  To 
find  her  so  lovely  and  so  winsome  in  her  per 
sonality  moved  him  to  proud  exaltation.  He 
looked  forward  to  companionship  with  her  in 
the  years  to  come,  and  thanked  Providence 
for  this  assuagement  of  past  loneliness  and 
sorrow.  He  was  grateful,  too,  for  the  fact 
that  she  had  entrusted  her  life's  happiness  to 
one  who  seemed  worthy,  so  far  as  any  man 

might  be,  of  such  a  treasure.     Since  he  had 

265 


266    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

no  son  of  his  own,  Jim  Maxwell  rejoiced  over 
this  gift  of  his  daughter's  bringing  to  him. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  in  this  connection  that 
the  otherwise  happy  father  found  ground  for 
anxiety,  and  that  anxiety  pressed  upon  him 
heavily.  His  understanding  of  the  circum 
stances,  which  was  wider  than  that  of  the 
young  persons  involved,  made  him  appreciate 
the  evil  consequence  that  must  ensue  from  the 
present  situation.  Either  Jack  would  escape 
across  the  Border,  or  he  would  not.  In  the 
latter  contingency,  there  would  be  immediate 
peril  of  his  life  on  being  brought  back  to  Kal- 
mak;  for  Jim  had  been  told,  what  Nell  had 
not,  of  the  probable  lynching  by  men  impa 
tient  of  the  law's  delay.  But,  with  the  fugi 
tive's  escape  safely  accomplished,  there  would 
remain  always  a  stigma  on  the  young  man's 
reputation.  Throughout  his  life,  he  would 
go  in  constant  danger  of  being  pointed  out  as 
a  jail-breaker  and  murderer.  Jim  Maxwell 
would  not  tolerate  such  a  fate  for  one  near 
and  dear  to  him,  and  dearest  to  his  daughter. 
He  made  a  last  round  of  his  traps,  bringing 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     267 

them  in  and  storing  them  in  the  cabin  pre 
paratory  to  his  departure.  And  in  his  prog 
ress  over  the  miles,  his  thoughts  were  grap 
pling  always  with  the  problems  by  which  he 
was  confronted.  It  was  not  until  nightfall, 
as  he  sat  smoking  cozily  in  the  warm  comfort 
of  the  cabin,  which  had  been  blest  by  his 
daughter's  presence,  that  he  at  last  reached  a 
decision.  He  had  little  fear  of  a  lynching  in 
case  of  Jack's  recapture;  for  he  meant  to  take 
a  hand  himself  in  coming  events,  and  h'e  be 
lieved  that  the  sheriff  at  Kalmak,  though  he 
knew  the  official  to  be  of  a  spineless  sort, 
would  make  a  stand  against  the  mob  with  his 
backing.  So  he  dismissed  any  immediate 
concern  over  the  retaking  of  the  escaped  pris 
oner.  There  remained,  however,  the  matter 
of  the  stigma.  He  would  not  let  his  son-in- 
law,  Nell's  husband,  whom  she  loved,  be  thus 
branded  by  the  world.  There  was  only  one 
means  of  prevention.  The  young  man's  inno 
cence  must  be  proved.  With  the  evidence 
against  him  such  as  it  was,  that  innocence 
could  be  established  in  a  single  way,  and  in 


268     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

none  other — by  proving  the  identity  of  Sam 
Ward's  actual  slayer.  Since  this  was  so,  Jim 
Maxwell  decided  that  he  himself  must  bend 
every  energy  to  tracing  out  the  truth  concern 
ing  the  crime  of  which  Jack  Reeves  stood 
accused.  Before  he  slept  that  night,  he  re 
solved  that  with  the  dawn  he  would  start  for 
Kalmak,  there  to  begin  his  work. 

In  the  morning,  then,  Jim  Maxwell  set 
forth  on  his  quest.  On  arrival  at  Kalmak,  he 
halted  his  dogs  before  the  Grand  Hotel, 
where  he  judged,  from  a  slight  acquaintance 
with  the  sheriff,  that  he  would  find  the  official 
in  the  bar-room.  In  this  he  was  proven 
right;  for,  on  entering  the  saloon,  the  first 
person  his  gaze  encountered  was  the  sheriff 
himself,  who  stood  at  the  end  of  the  bar  facing 
the  door,  with  an  expression  of  profound 
melancholy  upon  his  horse-like  face.  Jim, 
with  only  a  nod  to  the  others,  went  straight  to 
the  sheriff,  whom  he  greeted  with  an  assump 
tion  of  deference,  since  he  was  well  aware  of 
the  fellow's  pet  vanity. 

"And  what's  new?"  he  asked  innocently, 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     269 

after  he  had  given  an  order  to  the  bar-tender. 

The  sheriff  could  hardly  pause  to  drain  his 
glass,  so  eager  was  he  to  pour  out  his  woes 
to  one  who  had  not  yet  heard  them.  There 
was  nothing  in  the  narrative  that  increased  the 
stock  of  information  already  possessed  by  the 
questioner.  It  was  not  until  Jim  Maxwell 
had  pursued  a  cross-examination  for  some  time 
that  there  came  a  revelation  of  importance. 
This,  when  it  did  come,  crashed  on  him  like 
a  thunderbolt. 

"Have  there  been  any  other  strangers  in 
the  place  lately?"  he  demanded,  desirous  of 
any  clew  to  the  possible  murderer. 

"Nary  one,"  the  sheriff  responded  dismally. 
"It's  been  dull  as  ditch-water  all  winter  here 
abouts.  Hain't  anybody  come  in  for  a  month 
— leastways,  only  Dan  McGrew,  and  he  ain't 
a  stranger  exactly — not  by  a  long  shot!" 

Dan  McGrew !  The  name  screamed  in  Jim 
Maxwell's  brain.  Dan  McGrew,  here— 
within  reach  of  his  two  hands! 

He  stood  motionless,  unhearing,  unseeing. 
Beneath  the  concealing  beard,  his  cheeks  were 


27o    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

bloodless.  His  thoughts  were  chaos.  The 
despair  of  the  years  seemed  crystallized  in  this 
new  anguish  over  the  fact  that  the  enemy  had 
been  here,  almost  within  his  grasp,  and  he 
had  not  known.  He  seemed  to  realize  as 
never  before  the  monstrousness  of  the  crime 
committed  against  him.  Hate  more  savage 
than  he  had  known  hitherto  filled  his  heart 
with  its  black  flood.  It  seemed  the  final 
crushing  blow  of  fate,  that  the  wrecker  of  his 
home  should  have  come  so  nearly  within  his 
power  and  then  have  escaped  unscathed. 
For,  somehow,  he  sensed  details  given  by  the 
sheriff  concerning  Dan  McGrew's  going  from 
Kalmak,  though  he  heard  not  a  word  of  the 
babbling  voice. 

Presently,  Jim  Maxwell  aroused  from  this 
trance  of  rage.  He  found  himself  weak  and 
shaken,  and  his  tone  was  husky  as  he  ordered 
more  drinks  for  himself  and  for  the  gratified 
sheriff.  He  gulped  the  raw  liquor  hurriedly, 
and  welcomed  the  sting  of  it.  He  regained 
his  usual  stern  composure  soon,  and,  immedi 
ately  then,  his  thoughts  took  a  new  turn.  He 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     271 

resumed  the  prosecution  of  his  inquiries  with 
increased  eagerness.  It  may  have  been  that 
the  association  of  ideas  drove  him  on.  Dan 
McGrew  was  to  him  the  epitome  of  crime. 
The  presence  of  Dan  McGrew  in  the  neigh 
borhood  struck  him  as  of  possible  significance. 
He  was  without  a  shred  of  evidence,  in  the 
matter  of  Sam  Ward's  death,  against  the  man 
he  hated.  Yet,  he  felt  a  strange  conviction 
that  here  was  the  clew  for  which  he  had 
been  searching.  .  .  .  The  sheriff  was  highly 
pleased  by  the  manifest  interest  of  this  trap 
per,  who,  in  their  previous  meetings,  had 
shown  no  trace  of  geniality. 

"You  say  this  Dan  McGrew—  '  Jim  stum 
bled  a  little  over  the  name — "was  here  when 
this  Reeves  chap  came  in?" 

"Blew  in  that  very  self-same  day,  jest  a  little 
while  before  the  murderer  got  here." 

"I  suppose  he  hadn't  heard  of  the  murder 
until  he  got  here?"  Jim  suggested. 

The  sheriff  shook  his  head. 

"We  didn't  any  of  us  know  a  thing  about 
Sam  Ward  having  been  killed,  until  the  young 


272     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

feller  drove  up  and  told  that  cussed  yarn  about 
seein'  the  murder  through  his  glasses.  The 
nerve  of  him!  And  he'd  got  away  with  it, 
too,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Dan  McGrew  puttin' 
it  into  my  head  to  search  his  pack." 

The  listener  started  perceptibly  at  this  in 
formation. 

"Oh,  it  was  Dan  McGrew  who  first  directed 
suspicion  against  this  young  man,  was  it?" 

The  sheriff  was  deeply  chagrined  by  his  in 
advertent  revelation  of  the  truth.  He  at 
tempted  to  hedge. 

"Why,  not  exactly.  Maybe  he  was  the  first 
to  speak  right  out  plain,  but  I'd  been  thinkin' 
jest  that  same  thing." 

Jim  did  not  care  to  press  the  point.  He 
had  no  wish  to  wound  the  sheriff's  sensibili 
ties,  at  least  while  further  information  might 
be  extracted  from  the  man.  But  he  regarded 
this  news  concerning  the  part  Dan  McGrew 
had  played  in  the  affair  as  of  vital  importance. 
While  the  sheriff  maundered  on,  he  rapidly 
reviewed  the  details  of  the  case,  so  far  as  he 
knew  them. 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     273 

The  murderer,  according  to  Jack's  account, 
must  have  seen  the  approach  of  the  bridal 
pair.  The  fact  was,  indeed,  proven  by  his 
hasty  flight  from  the  scene  of  the  crime. 
Thereafter,  he  might  have  watched,  and  prob 
ably  had  watched,  the  arrival  of  the  sled,  and 
he  doubtless  had  been  aware  that  the  new 
comers  camped  on  fhe  creek  for  the  night. 
Already,  in  previous  study  of  the  questions  in 
volved,  Jim  had  arrived  at  these  conclusions, 
which  established  a  plausible  explanation  for 
the  presence  of  the  knife-handle  in  Jack's 
pack.  Certainly,  it  could  have  been  no  diffi 
cult  feat  for  the  assassin  to  secrete  this  evi 
dence  during  the  night  encampment.  As  cer 
tainly,  there  could  have  been  no  other  oppor 
tunity.  Nor  could  there  be  any  doubt  as  to 
the  motive  for  the  action.  It  had  been  for  the 
purpose  of  fixing  guilt  upon  the  innocent,  that 
the  guilty  might  go  free. 

Nowr,  in  addition  to  these  conclusions  al 
ready  established,  there  appeared  another  and 
salient  fact. 

The  person  who  first  suggested  the  search- 


274    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

ing  of  the  pack  wherein  the  knife-handle 
lay  concealed  had  been  Dan  McGrew.  The 
inference  was  undeniable.  It  was  made 
stronger  still  by  the  correlated  fact  that  Dan 
McGrew  had  arrived  at  Kalmak  only  shortly 
before  the  coming  of  the  alleged  murderer. 
By  further  questioning,  Jim  drew  from  the 
loquacious  sheriff  additional  data.  Danger 
ous  Dan  had  arrived  on  foot.  He  had  talked 
of  having  been  in  the  stampede;  but  he  had 
given  no  precise  account  of  his  movements, 
nor  had  he  explained  the  reason  for  his  com 
ing  to  Kalmak,  over  which  the  sheriff  had 
.puzzled.  The  day  following  his  arrival,  he 
had  set  out  for  Malamute  with  a  hired  outfit. 
A  rapid  survey  of  all  these  circumstances 
brought  Jim  Maxwell  to  the  conviction  that 
Dangerous  Dan  McGrew  had  added  murder 
to  his  other  crimes.  The  evidence  was  by  no 
means  conclusive,  but  it  was  sufficient  to  any 
one  reasoning  from  the  facts.  Jim,  sure  of 
Jack's  innocence,  regarded  the  guilt  of  Dan 
McGrew  as  actually  established.  There  re 
mained  the  necessity  of  final  proof,  which 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     275 

would  brand  the  murderer  as  such  before  the 
world  and  clear  the  innocent  from  unjust  sus 
picion. 

It  was  reasonable  to  suppose  that  the  slayer 
of  Sam  Ward  had  taken  to  himself,  in  pay 
ment  for  his  crime,  anything  of  value  on  the 
dead  man's  body.  Thus  there  was  a  possibil 
ity,  even  a  probability,  that  Dangerous  Dan 
McGrew  now  carried  with  him  some  tangible 
evidence  that  would  serve  to  convict  him. 
This  evidence  must  be  secured.  In  no  other 
way  could  the  innocence  of  Jack  Reeves  be 
proclaimed  to  the  world.  And  Dangerous 
Dan  had  gone  to  Malamute.  Jim  smiled 
slowly,  staring  fixedly,  as  if  his  gaze  reached 
out  across  the  miles.  The  sheriff,  though 
hardly  a  coward,  shrank  a  little  from  some 
strange  quality  in  that  look. 

Jim  Maxwell,  in  truth,  was  wondering  as 
to  his  exact  purpose  in  going  to  Malamute. 
Was  it  to  save  Jack  Reeves,  or  was  it  to  kill 
Dangerous  Dan  McGrew?  Both,  perhaps. 

He  put  a  last  question  to  the  sheriff,  who 
was  puzzled  by  it — not  the  less  so  by  reason 


276     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

of  a  certain  hesitation  in  the  questioner's  voice 
as  he  spoke. 

"There  wasn't  any — any  woman  with  this— 
Dan  McGrew?" 

"Nope !  He's  been  here  three  or  four  times 
for  a  game  with  the  boys.  He's  square,  Dan 
is.  An'  I  hain't  never  seen  him  look  at  nary 
one  of  the  gals." 

Jim  Maxwell  turned  away  abruptly  from 
the  sheriff,  without  a  word  in  parting.  The 
careless  words  screeched  in  his  brain,  mocking 
devils  of  derision: 

"Pie's  square,  Dan  is." 

Jim  Maxwell  set  his  face  homeward,  and 
urged  the  dogs  to  their  best  speed,  for  he  had 
much  to  do  and  time  pressed.  He  reached 
the  cabin  with  the  first  shadows  of  dusk,  and, 
after  attending  to  the  dogs,  busied  himself  in 
collecting  important  papers,  which  must  be 
carried  with  him,  since  he  could  hazard  no 
guess  as  to  when  he  might  return  to  the  cabin, 
if  ever.  His  skins  were  to  be  left  behind, 
though  their  total  value  was  a  considerable 
sum.  He  had  put  out  his  line  of  traps  for 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     277 

the  solace  afforded  by  occupation,  rather  than 
for  profit  from  the  pelts.  He  would  leave 
them  with  no  regret  over  the  loss  involved. 
He  cared  little  for  money  at  any  time — now, 
not  at  all.  The  only  consideration  was  that 
he  must  travel  fast  and  light. 

With  the  dawn  Jim  Maxwell  was  off.  At 
the  last,  he  experienced  a  pang  of  regret  over 
leaving  this  humble  dwelling,  where,  though 
he  had  companioned  so  long  with  misery,  he 
had,  nevertheless,  found  soothing  from  the 
serenity  and  the  silence,  and  where,  in  the  end, 
he  had  found  a  daughter  and  a  daughter's 
love.  Cut  this  regret  at  parting  from  the 
familiar  place  was,  after  all,  a  trivial  thing 
compared  with  the  desire  to  hasten  from  it  to 
the  accomplishment  of  the  work  that  awaited. 
He  was  obsessed  by  the  purpose  to  avenge  his 
own  wrongs  and  those  of  his  children,  as  he 
had  already  come  to  term  Nell  and  Jack  in  his 
thoughts.  The  object  of  that  vengeance  was 
Dan  McGrew.  In  these  hours  of  pursuit 
after  the  man  who  had  injured  him  and  his 
so  foully,  his  mood  was  all  of  fierce  hatred. 


278     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

The  tenderness  that  had  stirred  and  wakened 
in  his  heart  with  the  recognition  of  his  daugh 
ter  now  slept  again.  A  fury  of  rage  rilled 
him.  This  nearness  to  his  enemy  inflamed 
every  passionate  memory  of  wrong.  Usually 
considerate  of  every  creature,  he  was  now 
merciless,  and  sent  the  dogs  forward  at  top 
speed,  cursing  them  when  they  lagged. 

As  the  day  advanced,  heavy  gray  clouds 
covered  the  whole  face  of  the  heavens.  The 
light  wind  which  had  been  blowing  from  the 
east,  veered  to  the  north  soon  after  mid-day, 
and  quickened.  It  quickened  more  and  more. 
Presently  it  was  blowing  a  gale.  And  it  came 
icy  cold  from  the  floes  within  the  Circle. 
Jim,  under  the  numbing  touch,  was  compelled 
to  go  afoot  oftener,  in  order  to  make  the  slug 
gish  blood  bestir  itself.  Yet  his  action  was 
almost  automatic,  the  result  of  habit  formed 
in  like  experiences.  He  was  hardly  conscious 
of  the  changed  conditions.  Though  his  flesh 
felt  the  ice-lash  of  the  air  and  fought  against 
it,  the  brain  inhibited  sensation.  His  thought 
was  all  of  the  task  that  awaited.  The  chill 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     279 

of  the  body  was  nothing  to  him.  He  knew 
only  the  hot  wrath  that  throbbed  in  his  blood. 
He  gave  no  heed,  even  when  the  powdery 
snow  came  in  almost  level  flight.  It  was 
solely  the  slackening  pace  of  the  dogs  that  had 
power  to  arouse  him.  Sorely  reluctant,  he 
gave  them  a  breathing  spell,  and  fed  them. 
He  desired  no  food  for  himself.  He  was  sus 
tained  by  the  spirit  of  vengeance  which  was 
flaming  within  him.  He  was  not  afraid  of 
the  cold,  which  grew  momently  more  deadly; 
nor  of  the  snow,  though  it  fell  so  thickly  that, 
when  the  journey  was  resumed,  the  dogs  at 
tained  hardly  half  their  former  speed.  The 
flakes  flew  in  masses  so  dense  that  it  was  diffi 
cult  to  tell  whether  the  darkness  were  of  its 
own  making  or  the  night  were  come.  He 
could  still  distinguish  the  peaks  by  which  he 
set  his  course,  and,  since  he  went  to  his  desti 
nation,  nothing  else  mattered  at  all — except 
that  the  dogs  dawdled.  He  cursed  them 
again.  His  voice  went  out  to  them  by  turns 
raucously  savage  and  imploring. 
The  dogs  ran  floundering  through  the  snow, 


280    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

which  deepened  dangerously  fast.  Ever  aft 
erward,  Jim  Maxwell  believed  that,  somehow, 
the  power  of  righteousness  had  gone  with 
him,  triumphing  in  his  behalf  over  the  ele 
ments  that  would  have  barred  his  way.  It 
seemed,  indeed,  that  only  a  miracle  could  have 
carried  him  safely  through  the  cold  and  storm. 
He  had  expected,  by  unsparing  driving  of  the 
dogs,  to  reach  Malamute  well  before  dark. 
He  himself  now  had  no  sense  of  time,  only  as 
it  meant  delay  in  coming  face  to  face  with 
Dan  McGrew.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was 
ten  o'clock  at  night  when  his  eyes  picked  out 
faint  yellow  gleams  twinkling  through  the 
snow-wrack,  which  he  knew  to  be  the  lighted 
windows  of  the  Malamute  saloon.  The  dogs 
understood  that  they  were  come  to  the  jour 
ney's  end.  They  strained  at  the  breast-straps 
in  a  last  desperate  burst  of  speed,  and  then, 
unbidden,  halted  before  the  door  of  the  sa 
loon  and  dropped  on  their  bellies,  panting 
and  slavering.  Jim  Maxwell  with  difficulty 
stirred  his  cold-stiffened  muscles  and  clam 
bered  down  from  the  sled.  He  stood  dazed 


for  a  full  minute,  as  if  not  yet  fully  conscious 
that  he  had  reached  the  end  of  the  way,  that 
the  hour  of  vengeance  had  at  last  struck. 

Then,  suddenly,  Jim  Maxwell  straightened 
himself  and  squared  his  shoulders.  He 
walked  to  the  door  of  the  saloon  and  opened 
it  with  a  steady  hand  and  stepped  within, 
shaking  the  snow  from  his  parka  as  he  went. 
He  halted  just  inside  and  stood  quietly.  At 
his  entrance,  silence  had  fallen  on  the  noisy 
room  and  the  eyes  of  all  were  turned  on  him. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

FOR  a  time  Jim  Maxwell  stood  there 
without  movement,  blinking  confusedly, 
while  his  body  drank  in  the  steaming  warmth. 
The  men  in  the  room  regarded  the  newcomer 
with  frank  stares  of  curiosity.  He  was  un 
known  to  any  of  them.  They  guessed  him  to 
be  a  miner  just  in  from  the  creeks,  dog-tired 
from  his  fight  with  the  storm.  Without  being 
told,  one  of  the  hangers-on  of  the  saloon  hur 
ried  out  to  care  for  the  dogs,  since  their  owner 
seemed  almost  helpless.  Very  soon,  in  fact, 
a  suspicion  grew  in  the  minds  of  the  observers 
that  something  more  than  the  cold  had  af 
fected  this  stranger. 

"Full  of  hooch!"  was  the  verdict. 

Presently,  Jim's  vision  cleared.  He  cast 
one  piercing  glance  about  the  room.  He  saw 
Dangerous  Dan  McGrew  sitting  at  a  table 
along  the  wall,  a  little  way  to  his  left.  He 

282 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     283 

had  schooled  himself  for  the  sight.  There 
was  no  betrayal  of  the  emotion  that  shook  his 
soul  at  first  sight  of  the  man  who  had  robbed 
him  of  wife  and  child  and  happiness.  He 
even  noted  with  a  savage  satisfaction  some 
thing  constrained  in  the  pose  of  his  enemy, 
who  sat  half-turned  toward  him,  a  card  sus 
pended  in  mid-air.  Dan  McGrew  had  seen 
him — that  was  certain.  And  it  was  certain, 
too,  that  Dan  McGrew  would  not  make  the 
opening  move.  Jim  Maxwell  was  content. 
His  foe  hesitated — and  hesitation  is  weakness. 
He  had  no  doubt  as  to  his  own  strength.  He 
believed  it  adequate  for  every  demand  upon 
it. 

He  vaunted  himself  too  soon.  His  eyes 
passed  beyond  the  man  he  hated  to  the  one 
who  sat  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  table.  A 
darkness  fell  upon  his  spirit.  He  gazed 
steadily  enough,  for  he  had  no  power  even  to 
shift  the  direction  of  his  eyes.  There  was  no 
outward  sign  of  the  convulsion  in  his  soul. 
He  remained  looking  steadfastly  at  the  woman 
who  had  been  his  wife,  at  the  woman  whom  he 


284    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

had  loved  and  lost.  None  of  the  onlookers 
dreamed  that  the  sight  of  her  meant  anything 
to  this  stranger.  It  was  natural  'that  he  should 
consider  her  attentively — she  was  a  handsome 
woman,  in  a  place  where  women  were  rare. 

Jim  Maxwell's  heart  died  within  him.  He 
had  tried  so  often  throughout  the  years  to  be 
lieve  that  the  wife,  who  had  been  tricked  into 
deserting  him,  had  at  least  never  been  be 
guiled  into  aught  unfitting  her  womanhood. 
Now,  he  saw  before  him  the  damning  proof 
that  she  had  given  herself  to  vileness,  to  Dan 
gerous  Dan  McGrew,  whom  presently  he 
would  kill.  .  .  . 

But  the  sight  of  her  dear  face!  Notwith 
standing  all  the  horror,  to  see  her  once  again 
in  the  flesh  before  his  eyes  was  a  rapture  ex 
quisite,  yet  torturing.  Her  face  was  the 
loved  symbol  of  all  his  happiness.  It  was,  as 
well,  the  symbol  of  all  hideousness,  which  had 
swallowed  up  happiness.  As  he  beheld  her 
thus,  ravening  emotion  devoured  his  strength. 
Suddenly  he  felt  his  knees  sag.  His  eyelids 
fell  of  their  own  weight,  so  that  sight  of  her 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     285 

was  shut  out.  The  shock  of  darkness,  after 
the  glory  of  her  face,  startled  him  to  realiza 
tion  of  his  surroundings  and  steadied  him. 
He  asserted  his  will  once  again.  He  straight 
ened  and  shuffled  toward  the  bar.  But  he  did 
not  open  his  eyes  until  he  had  fairly  turned 
his  back  on  the  pair  at  the  table  by  the  wall. 
Those  observing  him  sniggered  and  mumbled 
again  of  hooch,  when  he  lurched  against  the 
bar,  and  clung  to  it  for  support  as  a  drunken 
man  might  .  .  .  Jim  Maxwell  was  drunken 
— drunken  with  grief  and  hate  and  love. 

After  a  little  he  recovered  some  measure  of 
composure.  He  drew  from  his  pocket  a 
buckskin  bag,  and  poured  some  gold-pieces  on 
the  bar. 

"Drinks  for  the  house!"  he  commanded. 

The  bartender  busied  himself  in  dispens 
ing  this  hospitality  to  the  crowd,  which  surged 
forward  thirstily  at  the  welcome  summons. 
The  Rag-time  Kid,  a  wan-faced  youth  with 
a  cigarette  dangling  from  his  lower  lip,  who 
performed  noisily  on  the  piano  which  stood 
against  one  wall,  left  his  instrument  and  came 


286    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

forward  hastily.  Jim  saw  that  drinks  were 
served  to  Dangerous  Dan  McGrew  and  the 
woman  opposite  him,  as  well  as  the  few  others 
that  were  seated  at  the  tables.  He  nodded 
curtly  when  the  company  raised  their  glasses 
toward  him  before  drinking.  His  manner, 
however,  was  so  singular  and  so  remote  that 
none  ventured  to  address  him  directly.  They 
eyed  him  askance.  They  speculated  among 
themselves  concerning  who  the  man  might  be; 
for  now,  in  some  mysterious  fashion,  they  had 
come  to  perceive  that  this  was  not  one  of  the 
ordinary  miners  from  the  creeks,  with  the 
mud  of  the  bottoms  still  matted  in  his  beard. 
But  they  could  make  no  definite  surmise  to 
account  for  him.  In  some  vague  way,  they 
felt  the  portentousness  of  his  presence  among 
them.  It  was  as  if  he  stood  enveloped  in  an 
atmosphere  of  tragedy.  They  looked  at  him 
furtively,  confused,  wondering,  half-fearful, 
at  his  aspect.  They  no  longer  deemed  him 
merely  a  drunken  man.  But  what  he  was, 
they  could  by  no  means  understand.  They 
drank  again,  for  his  money  still  lay  on  the  bar. 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     287 

They  raised  their  glasses  toward  him.  But 
the  mystery  of  his  coming  remained  unsolved, 
and  it  grew  more  burdensome  as  minutes 
passed,  pressing  heavily  upon  their  spirits. 
Jim  Maxwell  drank  with  the  others  the  first 
time  and  the  second.  He  might,  perhaps, 
have  drained  a  third  glass,  but,  while  he  de 
layed,  his  eyes  chanced  to  fall  on  the  piano, 
for  the  wan-faced  youth  with  the  cigarette 
dangling  from  his  lower  lip,  was  still  enjoying 
his  respite  and  was  making  merry  at  the  bar. 
It  had  been  a  long  time  since  Jim  had  touched 
the  keys,  but  now,  in  the  travail  of  his  soul,  it 
seemed  to  him  that  in  music  he  might  find 
surcease  for  the  warring  emotions  within  his 
breast.  He  went  toward  the  piano,  striding 
firmly.  When  he  was  come  to  it,  he  threw  off 
parka  and  cap  and  seated  himself  and  laid  his 
hands  noiselessly  on  the  keys  in  a  touch  gentle 
and  fond  as  a  caress. 

As  the  first  soft  chord  sounded,  the  pallid 
youth  at  the  bar  started  as  if  struck.  He 
wheeled,  and  thereafter  gazed  unfalteringly 
toward  the  man  at  the  piano. 


288     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

It  had  been  long  since  Jim  Maxwell  had 
played.  At  the  outset,  his  hands  moved 
slowly,  almost  hesitatingly,  for  the  muscles 
were  still  a  little  numb  from  the  cold  of  out 
doors.  But  they  grew  elastic  quickly,  and  a 
great  series  of  clanging  harmonies  echoed 
through  the  squalid  room.  The  others  looked 
now  with  the  wan-faced  youth,  whose  ciga 
rette  had  fallen  unheeded.  There  came  the 
dainty  scamper  of  cadenzas,  a  crashing  chord, 
and  silence.  The  youth,  who  played  himself, 
though  not  like  this,  understood  that  the 
stranger  had  made  ready.  He  waited,  tremu 
lous  with  eagerness;  for  he  loved  his  art, 
although  he  debased  it.  He  muttered  to  him 
self: 

"God!  how  that  man  can  play!" 

Jim  Maxwell's  fingers  sought  the  keys 
again,  weaving  strange  harmonies.  And 
through  them  ran  a  thread  of  melody.  The 
listeners  could  not  understand,  though  the 
spell  of  it  held  them.  Only,  they  knew  some 
how  that  the  one  who  played  was  a  man,  full 
of  a  man's  passions — the  primitive  passions  of 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     289 

love  and  hate.  There  was  a  harshness  in  the 
dissonances  that  told  of  bitter  sorrows;  there 
was  a  charm  in  the  thread  of  melody  that  was 
all  truth  and  tenderness. 

Those  who  heard  saw  visions,  each  accord 
ing  to  his  kind.  In  this  improvisation,  Jim 
interpreted  his  thronging  emotions.  The 
coldness  and  the  desolation  of  the  North  were 
made  audible.  Through  sound  itself,  he 
made  these  dwellers  in  the  lonely  places  real 
ize  again  the  silence  of  solitary  wastes.  The 
music  cried  out  in  sudden  anguished  longing, 
then  broke  in  discords,  like  shrieks  for  venge 
ance.  Some  of  the  listeners  stirred  uneasily, 
uncomprehendingly,  yet  thrilled — for  the  soul 
is  more  intelligent  than  the  brain.  The  Rag 
time  Kid  shivered. 

Dan  McGrew,  the  cards  of  his  solo-game 
unheeded  on  the  table  before  him,  watched  the 
man  at  the  piano  with  steady  gaze.  His  face 
was  expressionless.  He  had  recognized  Jim 
Maxwell  at  first  sight,  and  he  knew  that  the 
time  of  reckoning  was  at  hand.  He  was  dis 
mayed,  for  he  had  come  in  the  course  of 


29o    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

years  to  believe  that  they  two  would  never 
meet.  Now  that  they  were  met,  he  was  ready 
for  whatever  might  befall.  But  he  dared  do 
nothing  to  precipitate  the  crisis.  He  must 
wait  to  be  accused  or  attacked.  If  he  could 
have  followed  his  desire,  he  would  have  shot 
down  the  man  he  had  wronged — would  have 
shot  him  in  the  back,  remorselessly,  in  cold 
blood.  That  he  could  not  do.  The  code  of 
the  frontier  forbids  such  murder.  At  such 
an  act,  these  men  about  him  would  show  no 
mercy  beyond  the  short  shrift  of  a  rope.  He 
could  only  await  the  issue  with  what  patience 
he  might,  cursing  inaudibly,  so  poised  that  he 
could  draw  at  a  second's  warning. 

Lou  had  not  recognized  Jim  Maxwell  on 
his  entrance.  She  had  given  only  a  glance  at 
this  bearded  stranger.  She  was  infinitely 
weary  of  life.  She  hated  this  vulgar  place, 
reeking  with  rank  tobacco-smoke  and  the 
fumes  of  liquors.  She  felt,  even  through  an 
apathy  that  had  become  habitual  with  her, 
shame  from  the  leering  glances  of  these  men, 
who  took  her  for  the  gambler's  light-o'-love. 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     291 

She  felt  herself  degraded  more  and  more  at 
her  manner  of  life  and  by  the  associations 
thrust  upon  her.  She  knew  the  evil  spirit  of 
the  man  she  had  married,  which  daily  and 
hourly  she  was  compelled  to  tolerate.  The 
life  was  become  almost  unendurable.  Yet, 
she  continued  the  sordid  existence,  partly  be 
cause  she  lacked  the  courage  to  break  away 
from  him,  partly  because  she  could  condone 
the  wickedness  of  Dan  McGrew  to  some  ex 
tent  in  appreciation  of  his  loyalty  to  her.  She 
could  not  doubt  the  reality  of  his  love  for  her. 
That  his  love  was  utterly  selfish,  she  knew. 
But  he  gave  her  all  that  he  could.  The 
woman's  instinct  toward  martyrdom  made  her 
feel  it  a  duty  not  to  desert  him.  Now,  after 
the  coming  of  the  stranger,  she  felt,  rather  than 
saw,  the  change  in  Dan  McGrew,  and  she 
wondered  over  it  dully.  Not  for  a  moment 
did  she  suspect  that  her  husband's  emotion  was 
connected  with  the  advent  of  the  bearded  man, 
toward  whom  she  glanced  so  idly.  .  .  .  Love, 
often,  is  not  so  shrewd  as  hate. 

Her  eyes  followed  Jim  Maxwell  as  he  went 


292     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

to  the  piano.  She  was  still  listless,  wholly  un 
suspecting  that  aught  impended.  Even  the 
first  softly  sounded  notes  did  not  arouse  her. 
It  was  not  until  her  ears  caught  the  delicate 
thread  of  melody  that  her  heart  heard  it,  and 
answered,  and  she  knew  that  this  was  the  man 
she  loved.  Her  hands  clutched  at  her  bosom 
in  a  spasmodic  gesture.  She  swayed  in  her 
chair  for  a  moment,  then  relaxed  limply,  and 
sat  huddled  in  the  corner  between  the  table 
and  the  wall,  her  face  ghastly  beneath  the 
rouge.  But,  lifeless  as  she  seemed,  she  was 
listening  through  every  atom  of  her  being. 
In  the  varying  phases  of  the  music,  she  lived 
again  the  blisses  and  the  torments.  And,  too, 
it  was  borne  in  upon  her  that,  as  she  had  suf 
fered  in  the  years  since  their  parting,  even  so 
had  he,  who  thus  wove  in  sound  the  fabric  of 
their  lives.  Yet,  she  could  not  believe  that 
this  man  still  loved  her,  though  the  music  that 
grew  under  his  fingers  was  like  the  talking  to 
gether  of  their  souls.  A  great  wonder  dawned 
in  her,  a  greater  fear,  still  greater  hope. 
Could  it  be  that  the  scales  had  fallen  from  his 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     293 

eyes,  that  he  had  freed  himself  from  a  degrad 
ing  passion,  that  he  had  returned  to  his  al 
legiance,  that  he  loved  her — her!  Her  body 
shook  as  with  a  palsy  from  the  riot  in  her 
heart. 

Abruptly,  the  music  ceased.  Then,  in  an 
other  instant,  there  came  a  series  of  noble 
chords,  sonorous  and  serene.  Followed  the 
tripping  dance  of  arpeggios,  which  deftly 
hinted  of  a  melody  to  come.  The  Rag-time 
Kid  quivered  in  ecstatic  anticipation  of  some 
thing  splendid,  nor  was  he  disappointed. 

There  sounded  a  lilting  melody,  a-throb 
with  the  joy  of  life.  The  notes  rang  with  the 
calls  of  passion;  they  trembled  into  the  sigh- 
ings  of  exquisite  tenderness.  There  was  rap 
ture  in  the  magnificent  harmonies  that 
marched  with  this  melody.  It  was  like  a 
song  of  two  hearts  glorious  in  the  fulfillment 
of  their  love,  with  all  the  universe  chanting 
praise  of  their  happiness.  It  was  the  lyric  of 
love  triumphant. 

The  man  at  the  piano  raised  his  arms  high, 
and  brought  his  hands  down  on  the  keys  in  a 


294 

great  swoop.  The  flames  in  the  smoking-oil 
lamps  leaped  and  quivered  at  the  devil's  din 
of  the  discord.  The  nerves  of  those  that 
heard  leaped  and  quivered.  The  player  got 
up  from  the  stool.  His  eyes  swept  the  star 
ing  faces,  and  he  smiled — a  smile  like  a  curse. 

"You  don't  know  who  I  am,  boys,"  he  said. 
His  voice,  resonant,  yet  softly  modulated,  was 
very  gentle — dangerously  gentle  the  listeners 
might  have  thought,  had  they  known  him  well. 

Dan  McGrew  knew  him  well.  He  under 
stood  that  the  crisis  was  upon  him.  He 
shifted  very  slightly  in  his  chair,  that  he  might 
have  greater  freedom  of  movement  when  the 
need  came.  He  darted  a  single  glance  at  his 
wife,  and  saw  her  sitting  erect  again,  gazing 
at  the  player  with  dilated  eyes  in  which 
showed  the  hunger  of  a  soul.  Dan  McGrew 
cursed  beneath  his  breath,  and  did  not  look 
again.  Instead,  he  held  his  whole  attention 
on  the  man  who  had  spoken,  and  who  now 
spoke  once  more: 

"I  haven't  anything  to  say  to  you,  except 
that" — the  voice  deepened  and  roughened 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     295 

savagely — "one  of  you  is  a  hound  of  hell! 
His  name  is — Dan  McGrew!" 

Two  shots  rang  out,  which  almost  blent  as 
one — almost,  not  quite.  The  crowd  scattered 
and  dropped  to  the  floor.  The  lights  went 
out. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

WORD  had  been  sent  to  the  sheriff  of 
Kalmak  of  Jack  Reeves'  capture  at 
Malamute,  and  he  at  once  set  forth  to  bring  his 
prisoner  back.  He  arrived  hardly  an  hour  in 
advance  of  Jim  Maxwell.  He  took  formal 
possession  of  the  accused,  and  forthwith  made 
it  clear  that  he  was  not  minded  to  run  any  risk 
of  a  second  escape. 

"That  young  feller  ain't  in  no  way  safe  in  a 
jail,"  he  explained  to  his  brother  official. 
"There's  no  tellin'  what  didoes  he'd  be  up  to 
— he's  that  ornery.  I'll  jest  take  him  along 
with  me  to  the  saloon  over  night,  an'  I'll  set 
up  with  him,  an'  nuss  him  like  he  was  a 
babby." 

Despite  all  arguments  to  the  contrary,  the 
sheriff  had  his  way,  and  started  to  the  saloon- 
hotel,  where  the  distracted  bride  had  already 
established  herself.  The  officer  and  his  cap- 

296 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     297 

tive  were  hardly  a  rod  from  the  door,  when 
the  shots  rang  out,  and,  almost  in  the  same 
second,  the  lights  were  extinguished.  The 
sheriff  uttered  an  excited  exclamation,  and 
hurried  forward  with  his  prisoner.  They 
were  just  within  the  door,  when  the  bar 
tender,  who  had  so  discreetly  shot  out  the 
lights,  produced  new  chimneys  and  leisurely 
set  the  oil  lamps  going  again. 

As  his  eyes  fell  on  the  form  stretched  out 
upon  the  floor  near  the  piano,  Jack  Reeves  ut 
tered  a  cry  of  alarm,  and  sprang  forward. 
Kneeling,  he  caught  Jim  Maxwell's  hand  in 
his.  He  could  not  speak  in  the  first  shock  of 
emotion,  for  he  believed  that  the  man  was 
dead,  who  lay  there  so  still  and  white,  with 
closed  eyes,  and  the  blood  trickling  from  a 
wound  in  his  head. 

Nell,  in  an  adjoining  room,  had  been 
shaken  with  fear  at  the  noise  of  firing.  But, 
in  the  stillness  that  followed,  she  heard  a  cry 
of  distress  in  her  husband's  voice.  She  for 
got  fear  then,  and  rushed  into  the  saloon  and 
to  his  side.  The  sight  of  her  father  there 


298     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

struck  her  dumb  and  motionless  with  horror. 
Thus  it  came  about  that  she  and  her  husband 
were  passive  spectators  of  the  great  heart- 
drama  that  now  developed. 

There  was  another  in  the  group.  It  was 
Lou.  Before  the  shots  were  fired,  she  had 
sprung  to  her  feet,  and  forward,  as  if  to  forbid 
the  deadly  work.  She  had  been  too  late.  But 
she  had  plunged  on,  heedless  of  the  weapons, 
reckless  of  her  own  life.  The  instinct  of  love 
had  guided  her  through  the  sudden  blackness. 
So,  when  the  lights  burned  again,  she  was  there 
on  her  knees,  crooning  heart-broken  words  to 
the  ears  that  did  not  hear.  She  had  no 
thought  whatsoever  of  that  other  form  which 
lay  stark,  crumpled  on  the  floor  by  the  table 
she  had  left.  She  supported  Jim  in  her  arms, 
with  a  passion  of  tenderness  and  mourning; 
for  she,  too,  believed  him  dead,  and  it  seemed 
to  her  that  all  the  misery  that  had  gone  before 
were  as  nothing  to  this  anguish  over  finding 
him,  only  to  lose  him  forever.  Then,  of  a 
sudden,  Lou  gave  a  gasp  of  pure  rapture — for 
Jim  Maxwell  had  opened  his  eyes,  and  lay 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW     299 

staring  placidly  at  the  smoke-begrimed  ceil 
ing.  She  bent  and  kissed  the  bearded  face, 
then  raised  a  countenance  that  was  transfig 
ured.  It  was  years  younger  in  that  illumina 
tion  of  joy. 

Nell,  watching  in  startled  wonder,  recog 
nized  the  face  in  the  locket.  She  knew  this 
woman  to  be  her  mother.  She  could  under 
stand  nothing  else.  But  there  on  the  floor  at 
her  father's  side  was  the  mother  whom  she  had 
never  known.  The  mystery  appalled  her. 
Yet,  a  tremulous  happiness  stirred  in  her  heart 
over  this  meeting,  so  unexpected,  so  inexplic 
able,  so  fraught  with  amazing  possibilities. 

Jim  Maxwell  spoke,  very  low,  so  that  Lou 
held  her  ear  close  to  listen. 

"Get  it  from  the  pocket  inside  my  shirt," 
he  commanded. 

"But  your  wound,  Jim  dearest,"  Lou 
pleaded.  "Don't  bother  about  anything  else, 
whatever  it  is." 

"Get  it!"  Jim  repeated. 

Lou  yielded  to  the  authority  in  his  voice, 
and  searched  as  he  had  bidden.  She  drew 


3oo    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

forth  a  bit  of  oil-skin,  which  she  opened.  In  it 
was  a  sheet  of  notepaper,  folded  twice,  and 
worn  through  along  the  creases. 

"Read  it,"  Jim  directed  her;  and  Lou  read 
obediently,  though  slowly  through  scalding 
tears : 

"I,  Anne  Weston,  confess  to  tricking  Jim 
Maxwell  and  deceiving  his  wife  at  the  instiga 
tion  of  Dan  McGrew." 

That  first  sentence  gave  her  understanding 
of  the  lie  that  had  wrecked  her  life.  She  read 
on  to  the  end  of  Anne  Weston's  confession,  and 
knew  for  the  first  time  the  entire  infamy  of 
the  man  whose  treachery  had  robbed  her  of 
home  and  husband  and  child.  Hate  flared  in 
her.  She  turned  to  look  behind  her,  and  saw 
the  ungainly  heap  on  the  floor,  which  was  all 
that  was  left  of  Dangerous  Dan  McGrew. 
And  she  was  glad!  .  .  .  She  turned  again  to 
the  man  she  loved. 

"Forgive  me,  Jim — oh,  forgive  me,  dear 
est  1"  she  murmured. 

"I've  nothing  to  forgive,"  was  the  answer. 
"A  scoundrel  fooled  you — that's  all.  You 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW    301 

couldn't  help  but  believe  your  own  eyes.  But 
he's  paid  at  last,  I  guess.  Hasn't  he?" 

"He's  dead!"  Lou  replied;  and  there  was  no 
sorrow  in  her  voice. 

"And  I'm  alive!"  Jim  declared  contentedly. 
"He  only  creased  me."  He  sat  up  suddenly 
by  his  own  strength.  For  the  first  time,  he 
appeared  to  notice  his  daughter  and  Jack 
Reeves.  He  spoke  briskly  now,  and  his  voice 
had  its  accustomed  firmness. 

"Help  me  up,  Jack,"  he  bade  his  son-in- 
law.  And  then,  a  minute  later,  when  he  stood 
firmly  on  his  feet  again,  he  turned  to  Lou,  and 
spoke  softly. 

"I'm  going  to  make  you  very  happy,  to 
make  up  for  what  you  have  suffered.  And 
I'll  start  by  giving  you  back  the  daughter  you 
lost  twelve  years  ago."  He  nodded  toward 
the  girl,  who  approached. 

"Nell,"  he  ordered,  "I  want  you  to  take  this 
lady  to  your  room,  and  tell  her  who  you  are. 
Go  now,  both  of  you,  and  have  a  talk.  Jack 
and  I  will  come  soon.  We  have  something  to 
attend  to  first." 


302     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

The  women  yielded  to  the  masterful  air  of 
the  man  they  both  loved,  and  went  away  to 
gether  to  that  talk  in  which  there  would  be 
many  kisses  and  the  mingling  of  happy  tears. 

No  sooner  were  the  women  gone  than  Jim 
Maxwell  faced  the  sheriff  of  Kalmak,  who, 
throughout  the  excitement,  had  kept  his  at 
tention  unswervingly  fixed  on  the  prisoner, 
with  an  eye  to  possible  didoes.  But  before 
Jim  Maxwell  could  speak,  he  was  interrupted 
by  the  local  official,  who  detached  himself 
from  the  group  about  the  body  of  Dan 
McGrew,  and  now  approached. 

"You  got  him,  stranger,"  he  remarked  to 
Jim,  in  a  congratulatory  tone.  "And  he 
mighty  near  got  you.  Pretty  shootin'  by 
cripes!  And  I  suppose,  Mister,  you  under 
stand  you're  my  prisoner?" 

"Certainly,"  was  the  indifferent  answer. 
"But  I  sha'n't  try  to  get  away,  and  there's  some 
thing  I  want  to  have  attended  to  right  now. 
It  has  to  do  with  my  son-in-law,  Jack  Reeves 
here,  who  is  accused  of  a  crime  he  didn't  com 
mit.  I  want  to  prove  his  innocence,  and 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW    303 

there's  a  chance  I  may  be  able  to  do  it.  Dan 
McGrew  killed  Sam  Ward.  I  know  it.  I 
want  everybody  else  to  know  it.  I'm  hop 
ing  that  somewhere  among  his  things,  or  on 
him,  there'll  be  the  proof  to  connect  him  with 
the  crime." 

The  sheriff  of  Kalmak  protested  against  the 
possibility,  and  spoke  concerning  Jack's  pos 
session  of  the  knife-handle.  In  answer,  Jim 
made  clear  the  reasoning  by  which  he  had 
come  to  suspect  his  enemy  of  Sam  Ward's 
murder. 

"And,  anyhow,"  he  concluded,  "you'd 
search  this  dead  man's  effects.  I'm  only  ask 
ing  that  you  do  it  now,  and  in  my  presence. 
He  had  the  opportunity  to  do  the  killing,  and 
the  circumstances  must  appear  suspicious 
against  him  to  you,  though  you  didn't  know 
him  for  the  dog  he  was.  It's  an  idiotic  idea 
that  this  boy  of  mine,  who  was  on  his  honey 
moon,  would  stop  off  to  kill  a  man  he  didn't 
know,  for  a  pinch  of  dust  he  didn't  need." 

The  Malamute  official  nodded  assent. 

"You're  talkin'  sense,  Mister,"  he  agreed. 


304    THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

"I  reckon  Hal  Owens  thinks  the  same  as  I  do." 
He  regarded  the  sheriff  of  Kalmak  inquir 
ingly,  who  found  himself  exceedingly  con 
fused  over  this  new  turn  to  an  affair  already 
finally  determined  in  his  own  mind.  He 
vouchsafed  a  nod  of  acquiesence,  but  ventured 
nothing  further.  "And  that  being  so,"  the 
other  went  on,  "why,  we'll  just  naturally  take 
a  squint  at  the  corpse  and  his  goods  and  chat 
tels,  and  get  a  line,  if  so  be,  on  what's  what." 
Having  thus  spoken,  he  led  the  way  to  where 
the  body  of  Dan  McGrew  was  lying  by  the 
table;  and  with  him  went  Jim  Maxwell;  and 
Jack  Reeves  and  his  guard  followed  them. 

The  Malamute  sheriff,  as  became  his  au 
thority,  made  the  examination  of  the  dead 
man's  clothing.  He  went  through  the  pockets 
painstakingly,  sorting  the  articles,  and  laying 
each  in  turn  on  the  table,  while  Jim  Maxwell 
looked  on  with  a  close  scrutiny  that  nothing 
escaped.  But  the  collection  of  miscellany 
grew  little  by  little  without  showing  anything 
in  the  least  significant.  No  one  of  the  various 
objects  disclosed  could  by  any  ingenuity  be 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW    305 

claimed  as  evidence  that  Dan  McGrew  had 
perpetrated  the  crime  of  which  Jack  Reeves 
stood  accused.  The  hope  that  had  sprung  up 
in  the  young  man's  breast  at  Jim  Maxwell's 
utterance  quickly  died.  But  Jim  himself  did 
not  despair.  Sure  of  his  enemy's  guilt,  he  was 
sure,  too,  that  somehow  it  would  be  brought 
to  light. 

The  searcher  came  at  last  to  a  pocket  inside 
the  waistcoat.  In  it  was  a  tiny  book,  bound  in 
paste-board  covers.  On  the  outside  of  the 
front  cover  were  printed  words  and  written. 
The  sheriff  gave  a  glance  at  these,  and  shouted 
exultantly: 

"We've  got  him — cuss  him!"  And  then  he 
added,  in  a  tone  of  disgust:  "And  to  think 
of  him  carryin'  the  goods  on  him  like  that!" 
He  handed  the  book  to  Jim  Maxwell,  who 
read  in  a  glance,  with  Jack  looking  over  his 
shoulder: 

"The  Tacoma  Savings  Bank,  in  account 
with  Sam  Ward." 

Jack's  captor,  also,  who  throughout  had 
kept  his  hold  on  the  prisoner's  arm,  read,  and 


3o6     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

abruptly  took  his  hand  away.  His  voice  re 
vealed  how  great  was  the  injury  done  to  his 
dignity: 

"The  damn'  skunk!  An'  him  a-leadin'  me 
on!  I  wish  he'd  come  to  life  for  five  min 
utes,  an'  I'd  show  him  that  Hal  Owens  ain't 
to  be  made  a  fool  of."  And  the  sheriff's  flash 
ing  eyes  and  scowling  brows  showed  that  he 
meant  it. 

Without  a  word,  Jim  Maxwell  turned  to  his 
son-in-law,  and  put  out  his  hand,  and  the  two 
men  shook  hands  joyously,  yet  with  a  certain 
gravity. 

"This  will  be  glorious  news  for  Nell,"  Jack 
said,  happily.  Then  the  gladness  went  out  of 
his  face.  "Now,  we  must  think  about  you." 
He  grinned  ruefully.  "I'll  have  to  be  trying 
to  do  for  you  what  you've  done  for  me." 

The  sheriff  of  Malamute  regarded  the 
young  man  jovially. 

"Now,  don't  you  worry  a  mite — not  a  mite, 
my  lad,"  he  said  genially,  clapping  Jack 
Reeves  on  the  back.  "We'll  have  a  court 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW    307 

a-sittin'  in  this  blessed  saloon  in  about  five  min 
utes,  with  a  judge  and  a  jury  all  regular. 
From  what  the  boys  have  been  a  tellin'  me,  it 
seems  perfectly  clear  that  the  prisoner  just 
naturally  shot  Dan  McGrew  in  self-defense." 
He  beamed  good-naturedly  on  Jim.  "I  cal 
culate,  the  sooner  you're  tried,  the  better  you'd 
like  it,  and  have  the  thing  off  your  mind  like." 

His  prisoner  smiled  in  return. 

"It  can't  be  too  quickly  to  suit  me,"  he  de 
clared.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  amiable  man 
ner  of  the  officer,  as  well  as  the  suggestion  it 
self,  afforded  Jim  Maxwell  immense  relief. 
Until  within  the  hour,  he  had  had  no  concern 
as  to  his  fate.  He  had  determined  to  take  the 
law  in  his  own  hands  in  order  to  rid  the  world 
of  a  scoundrel.  He  had  not  troubled  to  think 
that  his  act  might  involve  himself  in  destruc 
tion.  'But  a  change  had  been  wrought  in  his 
attitude.  That  change  had  had  its  origin  in 
the  discovery  of  Lou.  Her  presence  had 
turned  his  thoughts  at  the  very  outset  to  new 
hopes  of  happiness.  He  himself  had  scarcely 


3o8     THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

realized  this,  until,  with  the  approach  of  the 
sheriff,  he  awoke  to  appreciation  of  the  fact 
that  he  stood  in  peril  of  his  life.  He  had  not 
been  able  to  guess  what  the  mood  of  these  men 
might  be  toward  him,  a  stranger  to  them,  who 
had  come  among  them  to  kill  one  whom  they 
did  know.  Though  he  concealed  it,  he  had 
experienced  a  considerable  trepidation  con 
cerning  the  outcome.  He  was  gratified  ac 
cordingly  now  over  the  sheriff's  announce 
ment,  which  manifested  the  kindly  disposition 
of  the  crowd  toward  him.  .  .  .  He  turned  to 
Jack. 

"Go  to  Nell  and  her  mother,"  he  directed, 
"and  keep  them  away  from  here.  Tell  Nell 
that  your  innocence  has  been  proved."  As 
the  young  man  turned  away,  half  in  reluctance 
half  in  eagerness,  Jim  addressed  the  sheriff 
gravely : 

"And  now,  sir,  I  am  at  your  service." 

The  trial  was  of  record  shortness,  but,  in  its 

way,  it  was  formal,  and  it  had  the  sanction 

of  the  law.     There  were  no  pleas,  only  the 

taking  of  evidence  and  the  rendering  of  the 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW    309 

verdict,  on  which  the  jury  decided  without 
leaving  their  places. 

The  verdict  was  justifiable  homicide  in  self- 
defense. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

JIM  thanked  the  court  and  the  jury  for 
their  treatment  of  him,  and  shook  hands 
heartily  with  each  man  of  them.  As  he 
turned  away,  the  barkeeper  called  to  him : 

"Hey,  Mr.  Maxwell!  There's  money 
comin'  to  you !" 

Jim  went  toward  the  bar,  smiling. 

"Use  it,  and  if  you  need  more,  I'll  pay." 

He  turned  toward  the  crowd  in  the  saloon. 
"You're  my  guests  to-night,  boys,  and  I  want 
you  to  whoop  it  up.  You're  all  friends  of 
mine.  Perhaps,  I'll  look  in  again  by-and-by. 
But  I  must  go  now.  I  was  alone  when  I 
came  here,  but,  thank  God!" — his  voice  grew 
suddenly  husky — "I'm  not  alone  now." 

In  the  adjoining  room,  the  others  were  wait 
ing  for  him  anxiously.  As  he  entered,  Jack 
sprang  to  his  feet. 

"They've  acquitted  you !"  he  cried. 
310 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW    311 

Jim  nodded  assent. 

"I've  been  acquitted  according  to  the  law." 
His  voice  was  grave,  yet  with  an  undernote 
of  jubilation.  "My  conscience  never  accused 
me,  I  guess.  Somehow,  it  seemed  to  me  that 
I  had  to  do  what  I  did.  And  what  about  you? 
What's  your  verdict?" 

Nell  threw  herself  into  her  father's  arms, 
and  clung  to  him.  He  held  her  close,  inex 
pressibly  comforted  by  this  contact  with  his 
own  flesh  and  blood. 

"As  if  any  one  could  doubt  that  you  did 
right!"  she  exclaimed,  scornfully. 

"I've  heard  the  story,"  Jack  interrupted. 
His  voice  was  quivering  with  sympathetic  an 
ger.  "Shooting  was  too  good  a  death  for  this 
Dan  McGrew." 

"And  you?"  Jim  spoke  more  softly  now, 
with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  woman,  who  had  not 
risen.  His  voice  was  very  wistful.  His  eyes 
were  even  more  wistful,  as  they  searched  that 
dear  face,  which,  though  weary  and  worn, 
was  still  so  beautiful. 

The  great,  dark  eyes,  brilliant  as  a  girl's  in 


312 

this  hour  of  excitement,  met  his  in  frank  adora 
tion. 

"Jim,"  she  said,  and  the  music  of  her  voice 
seemed  sweeter  than  he  had  ever  heard  it  be 
fore,  "you  were  right  to  kill  him,  of  course. 
But  whatever  you  do,  always,  will  be  right 
to  me — just  because  you  do  it.  I  doubted  you 
once,  Jim.  Never  again!"  She  rose  now, 
and  came  to  him.  And,  at  her  coming,  a  fem 
inine  instinct  caused  Nell  to  slip  from  her 
father's  embrace.  Her  mother  stepped  close, 
and  raised  her  lips. 

"Kiss  me,  Jim."  Her  voice  was  no  more 
than  a  whisper,  but  it  went  echoing  through 
all  the  chambers  of  the  man's  heart.  He 
folded  his  arms  about  her  with  a  reverent 
gentleness,  yet  strongly,  as  if  he  would  never 
let  her  go.  Then,  he  bent  his  head,  and  kissed 
her  on  the  lips.  ...  It  was  the  sacrament  of 
a  new  life  in  the  old  love. 

Thereafter,  the  four  talked  of  many  things. 
Nell  was  compelled  to  tell  again  the  story  of 
her  escape  from  the  river.  The  mother  was 
deeply  stirred  by  gratitude  to  the  kindly  pair 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW    313 

who  had  rescued  and  ministered  unto  her 
daughter  through  so  many  years.  She  turned 
to  Jim,  all  eagerness,  her  eyes  aglow,  her  lips 
curving  in  the  gracious  smile  he  knew  so 
well. 

"Oh,  can't  we  go  to  visit  them,  and  thank 
them?  We  must!" 

Jim  nodded. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "we  must,  indeed. 
We  owe  them  more  than  we  can  ever  repay. 
We're  proud  of  our  daughter,  and  we  bless 
them  for  it.  Yes,  we  must  tell  them  so. 
We'll  help  them  in  a  material  way,  but  we 
can  never  pay  them  our  debt." 

"Nell  and  I,"  Jack  remarked,  after  a  little 
interval  of  silence,  "have  about  decided  that 
we've  had  enough  excitement  for  one  honey 
moon.  We're  ready  to  hike  back.  What 
about  you  folks  going  with  us?" 

Jim  looked  at  Lou,  who  returned  his  glance 
in  kind.  The  desire  of  the  two  was  one. 
They  nodded  in  silent  acceptance  of  the  sug 
gestion.  Then,  for  the  first  time  in  those 
many  years,  Jim  Maxwell  laughed  gayly. 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW 

"Your  daughter  can  chaperon  you,  Lou," 
he  said. 

She  blushed  like  a  girl. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed,  in  embarrassment. 
"I  had  forgotten!" 

All  four,  for  the  first  time,  were  thinking 
of  the  complications  that  had  arisen  in  this 
most  curious  situation;  but  a  certain  shyness 
held  them  silent.  It  was  not  until  the  younger 
pair  had  said  good-night,  and  had  gone  to  their 
room,  that  Lou  at  last  spoke  openly  of  the 
thing  that  was  most  in  her  thoughts.  It  was 
now  that  Jim  learned  of  the  divorce  granted 
to  his  wife,  of  her  marriage  to  Dangerous  Dan 
McGrew.  The  news  stunned  him  with  its 
unexpectedness.  But,  too,  it  afforded  him  a 
mighty  relief.  There  remained,  however, 
the  astounding  fact  that  Lou  was  not  his  wife. 

"Why,"  he  ejaculated,  "we'll  have  to  be 
married  over  again." 

"Yes,"  Lou  assented,  in  some  confusion. 
"It's  not  proper,  of  course,  but—  She  broke 
off,  regarding  Jim  with  puzzled  eyes. 

"There's  nothing  conventional  about  this  af- 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW    315 

fair,"  was  the  man's  brisk  comment.  "For 
that  matter,  this  is  not  a  land  of  conventions, 
of  the  sort  they  set  such  store  by  down  below. 
They  go  here  by  the  right  and  wrong  of  things 
in  themselves.  That  way  is  a  good  deal  sim 
pler,  and,  in  most  cases,  it's  a  good  deal  better, 
I  guess.  By  right,  Lou,  you're  my  wife.  I'll 
make  you  so  legally  the  first  minute  possi 
ble.  It's  right  I  should.  Conventions  don't 

go." 

"I'm  glad,  Jim,"  Lou  answered  happily. 

"There's  the  minister  that  married  Nell  and 
Jack.  He'll  be  there  where  we're  going  to 
visit  Papa  and  Mamma  Ross.  Nell  says  he's 
a  fine  old  chap.  It  would  be  nice  to  be 
married  by  the  minister  that  married  Nell. 
What  do  you  think?" 

"Oh,  splendid!"  Lou  agreed,  with  enthu 
siasm.  She  smiled  and  dimpled.  "Why, 
Jim,  I  saw  him.  He  has  such  a  good  face! 
Jim,  you  don't  know!  I  saw  Nell  married — 
my  own  daughter,  and  I  never  knew  it!"  She 
told  the  story. 

"In  the  morning,  we'll  hit  a  good  pace  on 


316    THE  SHOOTING  OE  DAN  McGREW 

the  trail,"  Jim  said,  decisively,  "and  get  to  that 
parson  as  fast  as  ever  we  can." 
uYes,"  Lou  said  again. 

The  morrow  broke  fair  and  warmer  after 
the  storm.  The  four  were  off  early,  with  the 
whole  town  turned  out  to  do  them  honor  at 
their  parting.  Afterward,  the  cheering  popu 
lace  would  attend  the  obsequies  of  Dan 
McGrew. 

The  going  was  slow;  whereat  Jim  Maxwell 
fretted  hugely.  But  there  was  no  other  flaw 
in  his  perfect  happiness,  or  in  that  of  the 
woman  who  sat  with  her  face  turned  so  that 
she  might  look  up  often  into  the  bearded  one 
of  the  man  as  he  ran  behind  the  sled.  Both 
were  content.  Already,  yesterday  was  re 
mote,  with  all  its  loneliness  and  grief.  This 
was  a  new  day,  in  a  new  life,  the  beginning  of 
a  happiness  that  would  abide.  The  sorrows 
they  had  known  had  cleansed  and  strengthened 
them,  and  made  them  ready  for  a  finer  joy  in 
their  love.  They  spoke  little  together,  for 
there  was  small  need  of  words  between  them. 


THE  SHOOTING  OF  DAN  McGREW    317 

Neither  needed  to  tell  the  other  of  the  tor 
ment  endured  during  the  years  of  separation. 
Neither  wished  to  remember  the  evil  that  was 
gone.  Why  should  they  mourn  when  the  cup 
of  gladness  was  brimming  at  their  lips?  The 
past  was  dead.  The  scars  from  the  old 
wounds  would  remain  always.  But  they 
were  hidden,  and  the  wounds  were  healed  by 
love's  magic,  and  would  ache  no  more.  They 
set  their  faces  to  the  future,  where  life  shone 
radiant. 

On  the  crest  of  the  hill,  Jim  halted  the  dogs 
for  a  brief  rest.  He  pointed  out  over  the 
broad-sweeping  whiteness  of  the  valley  toward 
the  southern  horizon. 

"Down  there,  Lou,"  he  said,  and  his  voice 
rang  with  a  tender  joyousness,  "down  there  our 
home  is  waiting  for  us." 

And  the  woman  echoed  very  softly: 

"Our  home." 

THE  END 


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